


Breakdown

by WerewolvesAreReal



Series: Sivan [1]
Category: Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Alien Biology, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Five Year Mission, Flashbacks, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Invented Vulcan Sexes, M/M, Mpreg, Non-Graphic Rape/Non-Con, Pon Farr, Rape Aftermath, Romance, Season 2, Series, Trauma, Vulcan Bond, Vulcan Culture, Vulcan Mind Melds, to clarify this is NOT a romance between Spock & the rapist
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-05
Updated: 2019-07-07
Packaged: 2020-06-09 19:41:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 14
Words: 30,786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19482673
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WerewolvesAreReal/pseuds/WerewolvesAreReal
Summary: At Starbase 17 Spock becomes the victim of a shocking attack. He tries to remain unaffected, but the consequences are far-reaching.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Given the subject matter and rampant destruction of canon in this fic I wavered over posting it for awhile, but... eh. It's already written. I need to finish some minor editing bits, but the main draft is complete, so the other chapters should all be up within a few days.  
> Please take note of the tags.

Spock meets him by accident.

It would be hard to ignore the stranger. Vulcans are rare on any space station, being habitually insular, but this one makes a spectacle of himself by pacing and mumbling his way through the commercial district. It seems to unsettle everyone. It unsettles even Spock, because he can think of very few reasons why an adult Vulcan would be so openly uncontrolled.

He approaches the man.

“Excuse me,” he says. Surrounding visitors give them a wide berth, evidently relieved that someone has arrived to deal with the situation. “I am Commander Spock. Do you require assistance?”

“Yes,” says the Vulcan, grabbing his arm.

Spock represses a wince and lets himself be pulled along. In his head the list of possible ailments shortens, shortens, and then turns into a single certainty as the man's feverish eyes and bruising grip register. Spock's telepathic shields buckle from the stranger's proximity, even despite the layer of clothing separating their skin. He recognizes this ailment, though he has never suffered it, never seen it with any certainty.

“Is there someone here to help you?” Spock asks. The man huffs and just quickens his pace.

At last they come to what appears to be the space station's temporary housing area. No one from the Enterprise has required such accommodations, but the layout is easily recognizable. Spock allows himself to be pulled inside one of the rooms; perhaps the man will finally speak in a private setting. “Is there someone here capable of assisting you?” Spock repeats. The Vulcan man starts to pace in front of the door, hands grabbing at his own arms, shooting glares at Spock. When no response is forthcoming Spock continues, “I can attempt to make arrangements to return you to Vulcan. If you can provide any contact information - “

He is cut off when the stranger hits him across the face.

At this point Spock realizes, at last, that the other is beyond speech. He stumbles and takes a step back. “I see,” he acknowledges, ignoring the throbbing pain under his eye. “One moment; I will contact my ship and attain medical assistance for you.”

He reaches for his communicator. The strange Vulcan lunges.

Everything blurs after that.

* * *

Spock beams up to the Enterprise six hours after he intended, but within acceptable parameters given that his allotted shore-leave continues for another three. The transportation technician exclaims over the sight of him but doesn't protest when Spock sweeps into the hallway. Captain Kirk, standing outside and talking to an ensign in command-gold, does.

“Spock! What happened?”

Spock pauses, then registers that the tenderness around his left cheekbone has likely manifested itself visibly. “A minor altercation on the planet, Captain.”

Kirk pauses, then quirks his lips. “Who won?”

Spock raises an eyebrow. It earns him a laugh.

“Go to sickbay and get that checked,” Kirk says: half-advice, half-order. “We'll be heading out to Tellar soon.”

“Maybe we should stock up on supplies for _minor altercations,_ ” the ensign mutters beneath her breath. Spock doesn't relish the idea of ferrying around Tellarite scientists either, but he has larger concerns at the moment.

“Captain,” he acknowledges, and continues down the hallway.

He does not go to sickbay.

He goes instead to his quarters, where he has a small dermal regenerator for private use and sufficient superficial aids to cover any lingering bruises. He repairs the damage on his face, then his arms. He cleans the green blood under his fingernails that Jim never noticed.

Other damage will be invisible. It is thus irrelevant.

Spock does consider seeking attention for the concussion he has sustained. Head-injuries are serious and can take a long time to heal properly. But Spock judges that through focused meditation he will heal fully by the time the _Enterprise_ departs, so that can be dismissed, too.

He takes a water-shower for the first time since being covered in slime on Epsilon XI, meditates for one hour, and then begins his regular shift. As always.

* * *

“Aren't we supposed to be an exploration vessel,” McCoy complains. “This is a starship, not an intergalactic taxi-cab.”

“It's both, apparently,” says Kirk. “I think command just wants to make it clear to Tellar that we're taking their concerns seriously; they've put a lot of time into that colony in Sector 11.”

“Don't see why the scientists can't find a transport like normal people,” McCoy mutters.

Kirk waves his hand through the air, but it's clear he agrees. “Well, either way the colony won't accomplish anything if seismologists can't determine why the planet keeps shaking.” Their destination, a small planet designated Cadus III, has been undergoing a number of localized earthquakes with increasing frequency. “Do you have any thoughts, Mr. Spock?”

Spock straightens from beside the science station. “The planet has an unusual rotation, Sir; if its inherent gravitational attraction is a factor there may be little we can accomplish on a planet-wide scale.”

“Well, don't say that to the Tellarites – you'll be in for an argument.” Jim grins a little. “And you don't need any more black eyes.”

“Black eyes?” McCoy asks.

Kirk pauses. Looks at Spock. “He _did_ come to sickbay after shore-leave was up, right, Bones?”

“Was he supposed to?” McCoy demands.

Now everyone on the bridge looks at Spock.

“It was _heavily implied.”_

“I found such a visit unnecessary,” Spock says, because apparently he is required to speak.

“Have you become a doctor?” McCoy demands.

“Technically - “  
“A medical doctor!”

“I do not see that this is the appropriate place for such a discussion.”

“I quite agree,” Kirk says. “You can call up a replacement and make that visit now, Commander.”

Spock knows an order when he hears one. Resigned, he steps away from the station, but makes one last attempt. “Perhaps it would be best to wait until the end of shift.”

“Uh huh,” McCoy scoffs. “Sometime we have to sit down so you can tell me all about the _logic_ of avoiding Sickbay.” He waves Spock toward the turbolift.

Just as they're about to leave a call comes from through the communications panel by the sliding door. “Sickbay to Dr. McCoy!” A voice exclaims. McCoy frowns and accepts the call as Kirk swivels around in his chair.

“There's been an accident in lab 3,” Nurse Perko tells them over communications. “Three – no, four patients with extensive burns...”

“I'll be there in a minute,” McCoy agrees. Spock follows him to the turbolift – not to go to sickbay, where he cannot provide assistance, but to check the science labs and ascertain the status of his other officers.

As the lift descends McCoy remarks, “You always find some way to avoid physicals, don't you, Spock?”

* * *

Spock half-expects McCoy to remember his intended appointment once the minor crisis from science lab 3 is over, but the doctor never demands his attendance in medical, and Spock deliberately avoids his attentions for the next several days. It is not particularly difficult; he finds himself wholly submerged in the research for their upcoming mission, and the preparations for the Tellarite delegation assume an almost equal measure of his time.

In the rare moments of freedom he possesses, he finds no particular desire to meditate, to sleep, or to attend any usual functions which should occupy his time. A few hours before one day's Alpha shift finds him walking through the hallways without any particular destination when he comes upon Uhura standing and staring at a set of panels.

“Is there a problem, Lieutenant?”

“Oh – no, Sir.” But Uhura doesn't look so certain. “It's only, I've seen crewmen fixing this thing on and off for the past three days – and now it's broken again.”

“I will alert engineering.”

“No, don't bother Scotty, I can fix a few wires – I just wonder why it keeps happening.” Uhura reaches in and makes a small adjustment; sure enough the panel sputters to life.

She continues to frown at the display, then turns and asks, “Would you like to join me in the officer's lounge, Commander?”

Seeing no reason to refuse, he agrees.

Uhura is always a relaxing presence – at least, when she is not being deliberately mischievous. They collect tea in the officer's lounge and sit together at one of the corner tables. The lieutenant watches a nearby ensign who's trying to balance an increasingly precarious tower of cards. Then she says quietly, “Sir, there was a rumor I thought you should know about.”

Spock grips his cup gently. Doesn't meet her eyes. “You will have to elaborate.”

“It's about the captain.”

He doesn't let his relief show.

“You must remember, well – of course the Captain had a right to take a leave after Deneva, but - “

Spock blinks, understanding immediately. “The crew believes Captain Kirk is compromised by his brother's death?”

This is not a concern, in truth, that he has much considered. Naturally he has observed Kirk himself, but that is his duty in the wake of such an accident. It is his duty, also, to support the captain as needed. But Kirk is accustomed to loss, and has not truly known his brother for years; despite the unpleasant circumstances of Deneva Spock would be surprised if Jim's work became impeded by grief.

“That's part of it,” Uhura admits. She shifts uneasily. “I don't mean to imply - “

“I understand that you are only passing along information,” Spock assures.

Uhura relaxes. “Thank you, Mr. Spock. It's nothing too bad, mind you. I think everyone's just a little on edge in general. It seems like it's been one disaster after another for months.”

This is also true. “Perhaps the crew could use leave,” he concedes. Vulcans do not take shore-leave, but it has an indisputable effect on human productivity. The _Enterprise_ won't be stopping at any likely locations in the near future, but they also have no particularly strenuous tasks planned. Perhaps if some shifts were switched around for a week it would be possible to give everyone a little extra recreational time... “Thank you, Lieutenant. I will discuss it with the captain.”

Uhura updates him on her department's work before excusing herself for dinner. Spock feels unusually fatigued, too; he notes down her suggestions and decides to take an early night.

* * *

For the next three days Spock retires to his quarters immediately after shift ends, and he takes only one shift every day. Unusual, by his standards. Once alone he locks the door - something he has never before done - and lays on his bed. Though fatigue drags at his limbs, he does not sleep. He lays in silence, mind blank, watching the opposite wall as hours slip by. Once Jim tries to enter; Spock does not bother responding, and Jim respects his wish for privacy and the obvious message of the locked doors by leaving him undisturbed.

But this behavior will eventually draw attention. So on the fourth day, when he feels a little less exhausted, Spock joins Kirk and McCoy in the mess after shift ends. Kirk smiles to see him.

“Done with your contemplating?” he teases.

Contemplating?

“Or maybe you just couldn't stand the illogic any more,” McCoy drawls. “Starting to feel tainted by us mere humans, Spock?”

Spock does not let himself recoil from the annoyance in McCoy's tone, but it takes conscious effort to respond, “Not _all_ humans, doctor.”

Kirk smiles and McCoy harrumphs, which is normal.

Kirk often makes teasing references to what he calls Spock's 'contemplative phases', though they include little thought, and none deep. But he never protests. This idea is preferable to the alternative truth.

Spock knows he is unwell. He is just not sure _why,_ and exhaustion doesn't seem a sufficient cause to go to Sickbay.

On the sixth night after returning to the _Enterprise_ , Spock gives up the pretense of sleep and retreats to the science labs during Delta-Shift. His second officer, Lieutenant Zera, is unfazed; Spock often works consecutive shifts, finding human schedules allow for excessive recreation that could be better spent working.

He repeats this pattern the next night, and the next.

Zera starts to hint that perhaps Spock has other duties to attend. Humans have an illogical tendency to ascribe self-centered motivations to other people; not wanting to convey the impression that he is trying to 'micromanage' Zera's shifts, Spock obliges her by alternating his work in the labs with vigorous exercise in the ship's gym.

He sleeps sparingly, only when it is entirely necessary, and within two weeks has become exhausted enough to sleep deeply and dreamlessly as soon as he lays down.

* * *

“Chess tonight, Spock?”

The last thing Spock wants to do is play chess with Jim, even less than he wants to descend to the bridge later for the dual shift that he has scheduled for himself. But it is expected that Spock sometimes gets preoccupied with research, just as Kirk will expect his willing presence at their weekly matches. Deviation will attract notice.

“Certainly, Captain,” he says, resigning himself to several tedious hours of acting.

He arrives at Kirk's cabin at 1900 hours. The captain greets him with a thin smile and only belatedly offers tea several minutes after the game begins. He keeps ignoring the game to stare aimlessly around his quarters, fingers rapping against the table.

Spock recognizes this as a sign of impatience. “Perhaps we might postpone this match,” he suggests when Kirk makes his third erratic move in ten minutes.

Kirk jolts. “What? Sorry – do you have other plans?”

“I do not, Sir. But you seem preoccupied.”

“Sorry, Spock.”

“I am not offended. But if something is troubling you...” He lets the offer hang.

Kirk contemplates the game on the table. “I've been communicating with Earth – arrangements for Peter,” he says.

Spock lowers his eyes.

The Deneva tragedy was disturbing for the entire crew, but especially for the captain. Spock still has found no signs of grief that could be considered excessive or alarming in a human. But then, Captain Kirk can be an excellent liar when he chooses.

“He is staying with your mother?”

“Yes. And he'll be at boarding school most of the year – I helped set it up. He was a bit angry about that, I understand. But it's not fair to make mom take care of her all the time, at her age, and I can't...”

Kirk trails off. They both know that he _could_ take care of Peter. But not here, not on the Enterprise.

Kirk exhales. “I've never been a father-figure, I suppose. And I've never been a person my family can depend on. I couldn't even help Sam, and if he knew I wasn't doing a thing for Peter...”

“I am certain he would understand,” says Spock. He has no idea, in truth, what Samuel Kirk would think of this situation. But the idea of Kirk retiring from Starfleet is abhorrent. “Peter does not need a reluctant and embittered guardian. It is natural for a human teenager to feel upset at any extreme change to his lifestyle, but your mother seems a suitable and willing alternative.”

Kirk sighs. “You're right, of course. I'm glad to have you, Spock. Sometimes I can drive myself crazy thinking about my decisions, but I couldn't ask for a more dependable first officer.”

Spock can't quite describe the feeling these words invoke.

It is not, exactly, a positive sensation. For some reason he finds himself thinking of his recent sleeping troubles, his preoccupation with his own unexpected injuries. Something about the captain's words seems wrong.

At last he bows his head, acknowledging without reply. There is nothing he can say.

He exits soon after and returns to his quarters. He cannot sleep, but uncharacteristically, he cannot bother to find work in the labs. Hours pass in a state of quasi-meditation, until suddenly he has only 20 minutes remaining before Alpha Shift is due to begin.

Nothing seems less desirable than working in the chaotic noise of the bridge. But he is Vulcan, and fatigue – slothfulness - is very much _not._ So with the benefit of years of practiced discipline behind him Spock rises and starts to dress, forcing himself to ignore both fatigue and the numb haze over his mind. And he tries to pretend that there is nothing wrong.

He is becoming good at pretending.

* * *

“Sorry, Sir,” squawks Ensign Larr, almost knocking Spock over as they each curve a corner at the same instant. The ensign reaches out to steady him, grabbing Spock on his bared wrist.

Spock jolts away immediately, but the damage is done; Larr's surprise and alarm pierces through his mental-shields without pause. For a bizarre, disorienting moment he is sure that she means to lunge forward and grab him again, despite the entire crew's knowledge of Vulcan customs. He flinches reflexively.

Instead she cries, “Oh! I'm sorry!” one more time, then stumbles away, clearly embarrassed with her second faux pas.

Still a bit stunned, Spock almost stumbles into Science Lab 7. Lieutenant Zera, bent over an array of petri dishes, glances at him and then does a double-take. “Are you alright, Sir?”

“Yes. Please report the status of the Tellarite scientists, Lieutenant.”

As expected, the concern fades from her face. Zera sighs.

The Tellarites have been making an utter nuisance of themselves, which surprises no one. Until they reach Cadus III there is little they can do with the _Enterprise's_ labs that has not already been accomplished. But they persist in arguing for ever-increasing lab privileges, and seem utterly offended that the entirety of ship's operations have not been suspended to help them. Yesterday Spock found one of them haranguing a young botanist for working on a personal project rather than assisting the team's projections, as though there is anything such an officer could do about a seismic emergency.

Tellarites only get more offended if people refuse to argue with them. Spock therefore has no qualms about telling Dr. Javin _exactly_ how illogical he is behaving, but his refusal to raise his voice continues to incense the scientists. Which is how Spock ends up trading insults for 32.7 minutes while his subordinates scuttle around with increasingly wide eyes.

They are interrupted by an unlikely source.

“You Vulcans are too weak to make any decisions, and too weak to properly command your team,” Dr. Javin rages. “And if you refuse to listen to our demands - ! McCoy! How dare you interrupt us!”

“Sorry,” McCoy says. He doesn't sound sorry at all. “I need to borrow the Commander here for a quick exam.”

Dr. Pelarr scowls. “What, is he ill? Do you regularly put your sick and diseased people on critical tasks?”

“We don't, matter of fact. Hence the exam. Commander?”

Under any other circumstances Spock would gladly accept the out, but he has suspicions. Spock glances at Lieutenant Zera, who looks away quickly. She guiltily fingers a strand of hair.

Reported by his own officers, then.

“ _Now_ , if you don't mind,” McCoy drawls. “I'm not in the habit of making midnight house-visits, Spock.”

“I can hardly be blamed if you choose to do so today,” Spock points out. He nevertheless follows McCoy from the labs.

“Wouldn't none of this be necessary if you'd just sleep and eat like regular people,” McCoy says. His Southern accent seems particularly strong, perhaps due to the late hour. “You know how many officers have sidled up, all careful, to tell me how the first officer is scaring the hell out of them each night? Since when do you wander the ship like a vampire, anyway? I can find some sleep pills if you need 'em.”

“I fail to see how your sleep potions will help if they also imbue me with nausea – as they always do,” Spock retorts.

The talk continues in this stream until they enter a private room in Sickbay; for all his bluster, McCoy does always concede to that part of Vulcan privacy. The doctor retrieves a scanner. “Now,” he says. “Let's see how you've logically overworked yourself _this_ time.”

Despite himself Spock is reluctantly curious. He would never care to invite McCoy's loud and officious scrutiny, but if the doctor _can_ somehow alleviate his fatigue, the trip will be worthwhile.

“That can't be right,” McCoy mutters. He scans Spock again, squints at his tricorder, and abruptly sets it aside. “One second.”

He returns with another scanner and seems equally perplexed by the readings.

“Doctor,” Spock sighs, “If you need to acquaint yourself with the tools of your profession you are free to do it on your own time. But as I said, I do not need to be here.”

“Oh, you definitely do,” says McCoy absently. He scowls down at the scanner. “I just might have to reconfigure these scanners, since you're clearly not able to...”

McCoy pauses. Looks up at Spock. “Alright – I promise this is medically relevant. Have you had sex with a man recently?”

Spock stares. He plucks up the scanner and starts to scroll through the results. McCoy doesn't protest.

The readings are conclusive.

“I am pregnant,” says Spock flatly. The pieces slide into place; the determination is sound. When McCoy's mouth falls open, he adds,“I am uncertain of the reason for your confusion. I hope you have not managed to miss the existence of my non-human organs.”

“I mean – I knew it was possible,” McCoy clarifies, half-defensively. Spock, in his exhaustion, doesn't even pretend to disbelieve. “In theory. It's rare, isn't it?”

“For a male, you mean.”

“Well. All the Vulcan medical texts don't clarify _how_ the process works. Just that the male womb is usually useless, except _certain circumstances_ can trigger the _certain biological conditions_ needed to conceive... which is about as clear as mud. I don't suppose you want to help, on that front?”

There is no possible way to explain that a male Vulcan has to be on the receptive end of pon farr for conception – and that this must occur _before_ their own first _pon farr._ If there is one upside to this scenario, it is that Spock will never endure the burning mating drive himself.

Not now.

“No,” is what he says.

“Of course not,” McCoy mutters. “But I'm assuming Vulcans don't actually produce by themselves, so who's the lucky, ah - “ McCoy pauses. “Other parent?”

“That is irrelevant.”

McCoy takes away the scanner and studies it. Glances at Spock with a skeptical look. “Seems a _bit_ relevant. Medically, ethically.”

“No.”

“You can't just – what, you know who it is, don't you?” asks McCoy, half-chuckling.

Spock says nothing.

McCoy stares.

“As I said,” Spock finally concludes, “the circumstances are not relevant.”

“Hold on,” McCoy says. “Come on, Spock, work with me. At least give me a _species_ here. God knows it's going to be a mess trying to get a baseline on the kid anyway.”

“Vulcan.”

“So it happened on Starbase 5,” McCoy realizes, because he can't let go. “We don't have any other Vulcans here – but I didn't know Vulcans do one night stands.”

Spock can't allow that misconception to stand. “We do not.”

“Then...?”

McCoy freezes. He looks over Spock's head for a moment. The revelation is plain on his face.

“Jim pitched a fit,” he says quietly, “Over that bruise you wouldn't - “

“It is not relevant,” Spock snaps.

McCoy taps his foot for a minute. Spock refuses to look away.

“Alright,” says McCoy at last. “Tell me if you change your mind, but, alright. So what do you want to do?”

“Elaborate.”

“Keep it? Or not?” McCoy clarifies. “Your choice. I'm just the doctor.”

His voice has gone carefully neutral, no hint of teasing left.

Vulcan philosophy places value on all life. Yet instead of explaining this, Spock stands. “I will inform you when I have made a decision,” he says. But McCoy calls out to him before he can leave:

“Wait. Spock – you're not required to report the pregnancy for a few months.”

“I am aware of regulations.”

“Then you should also know that I _am_ obligated to report any suspected cases of sexual assault,” says McCoy.

Spock stands at the doorway for a moment, struggling for an acceptable answer. At last he can only say, “You will do as you must,” and leaves McCoy alone.


	2. Chapter 2

Captain Kirk buzzes at his door a full half-hour before Alpha Shift.

Spock lets him in, of course. He has been meditating for two hours in preparation for this discussion.

Kirk pushes past him as soon as the door opens. Spock engages the privacy lock, then turns.

“Why didn't you report it?” Kirk asks.

This is one of the three most likely openers Kirk could have chosen. Spock has tried to predict the captain's emotional response to his situation, and concluded that this may be an instance where Kirk will revert to protocols and regulations to cover his conflicted feelings.

So Spock has an answer. “A report did not seem necessary,” he says. “It did not happen on-shift, and I could not identify him.”

The last part is not strictly true. But his attacker was Vulcan, and he was suffering from _pon farr –_ so Spock _will not_ help identify him, which amounts to the same thing.

“So it's true,” says Kirk, who must have known it was true from the moment McCoy spoke to him. Nevertheless, he looks stunned. “You didn't say a word.”

Spock arches an eyebrow. “What is, is. I am uncertain what response you would have preferred, Sir.”

Kirk's presses his lips together. Rubs his face. “God, Spock. Are you alright?”

“My injuries were minor.”

“That's not - “

Kirk cuts himself off, grimacing.

Spock folds his hands behind his back and waits.

“Spock, I just – I know you aren't the sort to talk about your feelings, but if there's anything you need...”

“Thank you, Sir. But that will not be necessary.”

Kirk looks at him a little helplessly. Prepared or not, Spock finds himself uncomfortable with the occasion – with Kirk's expectations. A human would certainly respond to his predicament with more emotion. He also knows how deeply shocked and troubled Kirk would be, if Spock admits that he's had a hard time sleeping through the night this past month. That his mental shields have been damaged, and human emotions seem to press in around him all day. That he still wonders about his assailant, and if he'll ever see him again. Wonders if the unnamed Vulcan even remembered him once the fever passed.

He says none of these things. “I believe we are required on the bridge,” he offers.

Kirk nods tightly.

Alpha Shift is indisputably uncomfortable. Kirk clearly makes an effort to pretend that nothing has changed, which means he overcompensates. During the first half-hour of shift his number of interactions with Spock decrease by 34% from the norm; in the latter half, he rarely leaves Spock alone for five minutes at a time, perhaps becoming cognizant of his own mistake.

It's exhausting.

After Alpha Shift Spock is not released from duty – the _Enterprise_ is finally falling within the orbit of Cadus III, which means the Tellarite team wants to beam down immediately.

“May I ask what you intend to do on the planet's surface?” Spock would like to know during their briefing.

“We're going to take action,” Pelarr booms.

“Don't be a fool,” Javin responds. “What do you propose we do, bomb the planet into submission? We need to talk to the colonists and determine what's happening.”

“The colonists have already made their reports!”

“Well, yes. But do you _really_ trust that they were thorough? And I wouldn't put it past these Starfleet types to skim over the important details.”

Pelarr shakes his head. “We will take action!” he repeats. “You will see. This whole business will be solved within days. That's why _we_ are here, after all.”

The Starfleet officers are unimpressed. “Yes, well,” Kirk clears his throat. “Mr. Spock. I believe your department has been scanning the surface; can you tell us what's happening here?”

“Not with any certainty,” Spock says slowly. He studies the readings. “Sir, based on the displacement of earth, I would guess that something very... _very_ large is moving under the surface of the planet.”

Kirk frowns. “How large?”

Spock tilts his head. He considers the movement of the ground, the displacement indicated on his scanner, the speed of the object and its likely strength versus proportions...

“Possibly half the size of the _Enterprise,_ ” he concludes, and even the bickering Tellarites fall silent.

* * *

It takes two more days to finish a deep scan of the planet, and another day to accurately sift through enough data to map out an underground tunnel-system with several unusually warm center-points.

Animal life, Spock predicts. Kirk is more dubious, and McCoy becomes almost enraged at the idea.

“There's no way an animal could be that size – not and go undetected,” he protests.

“Vulcans deserts are home to a creature called the _a'kweth_ ,” Spock says. “A giant telepathic species that tunnels through the grounds. They are seen very rarely, and are undetectable by scanner, but they do in fact exist*.”

“Vulcan is a planet of _horrors,”_ McCoy mutters.

Regardless of the doctor's paranoia, Spock is firm in his conclusions. He is also of the opinion that there are only several options available to the _Enterprise,_ which he outlines in a meeting between senior staff-members and the Tellarite scientists:

“Our first option,” he says, “Is to make the colony suitable for withstanding frequent earthquakes. We may relocate the current colony to a piece of the planet less susceptible to these underground disturbances – somewhere the lifeform is incapable of traveling, such as on an island. Alternatively, a team could help strengthen the infrastructure of the buildings and try to prevent serious damage, although there are risks involved with such a course.”

“And the other options?”

“We could evacuate the planet and leave it to the local fauna. Or, we could attempt to communicate with the creatures and perhaps reach a compromise, if they have suitable intelligence.”

“No intelligent creature would shovel around in the dirt,” Pelarr sneers. “And we will not evacuate.”

“The horta is an intelligent creature that lives entirely underground,” Spock points out. “Also, if we discover the creatures to be sapient than the point is moot; by Federation dictate, any colony would require the permission of local inhabitants.”

The Tellarites are even less happy about this. Kirk listens to their complaints for awhile, then makes an abrupt gesture.

“Enough! You are here as researchers and advisors – but ultimately, this is my decision. I agree with the Commander. Mr. Spock, work with Lieutenant Uhura and Communications to find a way to negotiate with this creature.”

* * *

Lieutenant Uhura is one of the most capable Communications officers in the fleet. The list of options and plans she gives Spock is admirably thorough, but also excessive.

“You find it necessary to list eighteen different modes of contact, Lieutenant?”

“Yes, Sir. Considering the creature lives underground, we're assuming that it either has very poor hearing, or it's so sensitive to sounds that speech can travel miles. In either case, the Universal translator will have some trouble.”

“This is presuming the creature is sapient,” Spock points out.

“We believe it is,” Uhura confirms. She takes the padd back from him and taps a few instructions. Giving it back, she explains, “The movements occur in a pattern. Before we realized a living being was making the quakes, it was impossible to determine the significance. But – well, take a look at it, Sir. You can see that the number of seismic disturbances has significantly increased since the colony was established. Also, the results are becoming more severe, but they've never been located alarmingly close to the colony.”

Analyzing the chart prepared by Communications makes it clear what she's talking about. “You believe that several of these creatures have arranged 'meetings' to deal with the colony?”

“Yes! Look – I think they've even established precautionary patrols of some sort. And, here – on just one occasion there was a series of minor vibrations, which halted as soon as the colonists evacuated to another part of the planet. They might have been trying to send an envoy, but they're keeping a safe distance.”

“Or these are animals,” Spock points out, “Which are appropriately wary of a new species, and sent scouts ahead to evaluate them for threats.”

Uhura shrugs. She doesn't seem bothered by her superior's skepticism. “Maybe, Sir. But I think it would be best to proceed as though there's a chance of speech.”

“I agree. Thank you, Lieutenant.”

The first attempt to communicate involves beaming down with a small security team and Uhura herself. Under the lieutenant's direction, the team sets up an electric array that lets them shock the surrounding earthside with high-voltage electricity in controlled bursts. The electricity dissipates into the ground, but should be harmless. More importantly, any creature sensitive to the reverberations of the planet should be able to detect the shocks. If intelligent, they may also be able to perceive the mathematic pattern of the communication and make a response.

After several hours this effort is deemed a failure. Next they arrange a pattern of thermal-communication, then radar, then a series of alarmingly loud noises in varying frequencies. By the third attempt scans occasionally show a faint lifesign flickering several miles below the planet's surface, but never coming too close, and never showing any indication of understanding the _Enterprise's_ attempts.

The next several ideas require closer contact. After consideration, Spock requests to be beamed directly into one of the underground tunnels, near the last-detected lifesign under the planet's crust.

Kirk has some doubts about this.

“Are you sure, Spock? You know we can't reliably scan that deep – and if something happens we won't be able to beam you aboard fast, either. I can't even promise your communicator will work.”

“I trust Mr. Scott will be able to find my signal,” Spock says. “There are no materials in the surrounding earth that should significantly hamper communications. I believe this is necessary, Sir.”

“Well, far be it from me to argue,” Kirk sighs. “Very well. But you only have two hours.”

“That will not be sufficient to complete the full scope of Lieutenant Uhura's suggestions.”

“We can beam you down again later, if it's not enough, but I'd rather not take more risks than necessary. Two hours.”

Spock relents.

The transporter beam carries him to one of the many underground tunnels revealed by their deep scans of Cadus III. To Spock's surprise, he doesn't have to search for the source of the geological disturbances; less than a hundred yard away the tunnel seems to be blocked off, until his eyes adjust and he realizes that there's a large lifeform neatly filling the space with its huge, unmoving mass.

Spock approaches cautiously. He has with him a number of tools, and he shines a light in the creature's direction. Its skin is a mottled grey-brown, and uninterrupted. Among this smooth, wet hide Spock can discern no visible eyes, nor any other variety of sensory organs. Somehow he still gains the impression that the being is watching him.

Spock steps forward. In keeping with regulations, he should continue to test Uhura's suggestions. But Kirk has only given him two hours, and may reconsider the approach after he beams back aboard. And there is at least one form of communication that Spock is _certain_ will work. This surety puzzles him a moment, before at last he realizes the creature is emanating a faint – very faint – type of telepathic resonance.

He steps forward.

The creature remains still and calm as Spock presses his fingers against its damp skin. Probably there has never been anything on this planet which could threaten it.

Spock closes his eyes and initiates the meld.

* * *

  
A low, mechanical beeping coaxes Spock back into awareness. He finds himself looking up at the ceiling of Sickbay, suddenly aware that he was not asleep, not unconscious. He was... away. Drifting. His mind stepping back to sift through the strange sounds, images, and sensations the creature imparted to him.

“Mr. Spock,” a voice says. “How are you doing?”

Spock turns his head and slowly rises to a sitting position. His bed in Sickbay has apparently become an impromptu meeting-place. Two of the Tellarite scientists – Pelarr and Javin - are standing near the opposite wall, arms folded with impatience. Kirk sits next to him, and McCoy immediately walks into sight wielding a scanner and a dark scowl.

“Perfectly well,” Spock replies, ignoring the doctor's scoff. “The Asnean had an interesting perception of her planet.”

“Asnean? Is that what they're called?”

“Yes, Sir. I can confirm that they are definitely sapient.”

“Yes, due to your meld... which you _should_ have told us about, before you attempted it. Is there a reason you were so affected?”

“We should kill them,” Pelarr says. “This just proves that those beasts are dangerous!”

“I thought you didn't believe there _were_ any 'beasts,'” McCoy quips.

Spock ignores the interruption, and Kirk's question. “Sir, I can confirm that the Asneans were unaware of their harm to the colony. Furthermore, the individual I spoke with is one of several local matriarchs; she indicated they would be willing to negotiate for the colonist's continued tenure on-world, with the understanding that the creature's may need to avoid a certain portion of that continent.

“Negotiate!” Javin thunders. “We did not come here to negotiate!”

“But you will,” Kirk interrupts. “The Federation does not bulldoze over native species and steal planets. Good work, Mr. Spock. Did the creatures indicate any alternate way to communicate?”

Hazy memories emerge. “Yes, Sir. I will convey the appropriate methods to Lieutenant Uhura.”

“Please do so.”

“And then you can get back to _sleep,”_ McCoy emphasizes, and shoos his captain from Sickbay without further notice.

* * *

Despite the efforts of the Tellarites to apparently delay their own mission, the negotiations with the Asneans proceed smoothly. The _Enterprise_ has, though somewhat inadvertently, initiated a First-Contact. The Asneans care little for the surface, and are happy to allow a small colony to coexist with them as long as they promise to send along a capable ambassador to teach them more about the ongoing affairs of the galaxy – and the field of xeno-geology, which is of primary importance to them. It is no great hardship for the creatures to zone-off a few miles of underground travel, which apparently had an unappetizing variety of stone, anyway. Kirk will later claim that it's one of the easiest negotiations he's ever made.

Afterward, though, Kirk returns to Sickbay where McCoy continues to harass Spock with scans and more scans.

“I noticed that you avoided my question, Spock, when you first woke up. Is there a reason your meld with these people affected you so much? Was there something strange about her mind?”

“No,” says Spock reluctantly. “Her mind was not so alien; my telepathic abilities have been compromised, and I was more deeply affected than I should have been.”

“And I can guess why. You need to take medical leave,” says McCoy flatly. Spock can appreciate this bluntness, even as he disagrees. “Doctor's orders. You should have taken it before now. I don't know how Vulcans deal with these situations, but if you were human I'd order mandatory counseling.”

“Human 'counseling' is not beneficial to Vulcans.”

“Which is why you're going to take some time to visit your home-planet. I know your people have mind-healers, and if this sort of thing affects your telepathy - “

Spock raises an eyebrow. McCoy has been reading. He also notes how the doctor keeps using euphemisms; for some reason this is almost more offensive than the alternative. “It does not 'affect my telepathy.' However, the telepathic imprints left during any aggressive encounter – including rape – tends to destabilize telepathic _control._ “

Kirk stiffens at that word, 'rape'. McCoy does not.

“You know damn well what I mean. Do you have a good reason _not_ to take leave, Spock?”

The Enterprise crew is scheduled for a number of minor, fairly low-risk missions for the next month and a half. He must admit, “I do not.”

Kirk, standing with his hands clasped behind his back, is clearly trying to hide his discomfort with the situation. He nevertheless clears his throat and tries for a light tone. “As long as you need, Mr. Spock. Just don't get so homesick you decide to stay away.”

Spock is of the opinion that he does not 'need' any leave, but he's clearly been overruled. It's determined that he'll depart the ship in 9 days, when the _Enterprise_ passes close to a core-planet and he can catch a shuttle to Vulcan.

McCoy attempts to put him on light duty in the meantime.

“I have been working already for six weeks,” Spock replies. “Unless my conduct has been unsatisfactory, Sir?”

Kirk agrees. McCoy grudgingly relents. “Fine, work yourself to death, see if I care. Now, you.” McCoy turns to Kirk. “Get out.”

Kirk raises his eyebrows. “What - “

“ _Out._ We have more things to talk about, and medical privacy is still a thing, you know.”

Kirk looks a little miffed, glancing at Spock as though expecting a protest. When Spock says nothing, he raises his hands and leaves.

McCoy scowls at the door. “You really should just tell him,” he adds, in complete contrast to his aggressive removal of the captain.

“In deference to the preponderance of human pregnancies among the fleet, I am only required to alert my commanding-officer after the four month mark – as you well know. It has only been six weeks.”

“There's an exception for high-risk pregnancies,” McCoy points out. His voice has assumed that odd, gentle tone he's started using when they're alone; paradoxically it makes Spock stiffen. “And I think _any_ pregnancy involving you would be high-risk, what with your weird mixed-up body.”

“Thank you, Doctor,” says Spock dryly. “But I must disagree. The fact that I conceived naturally seems to imply a satisfactory level of genetic compatibility.”

“There are plenty of people who miscarry time after time, you know. Just getting pregnant don't mean your body can handle it. But I'm not going to argue with you.”

“That makes a charming divergence,” Spock notes.

McCoy scowls. “ _Look_. I'm not going to insist you tell Jim. But you should think about it. God knows he wouldn't want you on any away-teams if he knew about this.”

“As there is no logic in such a restriction, that is hardly a reason to speak with him sooner. But I shall take your advice under consideration.”

* * *

The next day, Kirk talks about Peter again over breakfast. He seems to be making small-talk, and informs Spock that he's begun calling the boy weekly, hoping to offer him support in his time of grief.

Spock decides that there is no harm in post-poning his discussion with the captain; Kirk seems quite occupied enough for the present.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * from 'Spock's World'


	3. Chapter 3

The overcrowded shuttle drops down just after sunrise. By Vulcan standards the day is pleasant – an average 126 degrees Fahrenheit, and slowly rising. There are a number of other Vulcans on the civilian transport, with a scattering of other desert-races. One human steps out onto the ramp and immediately starts swearing at the heat; an Andorian couple visibly flinch from the doorway and duck back inside the shuttle.

Spock ignores this fuss, and likewise ignores the helpful signs and pamphlets scattered around the transport station. He joins the other Vulcan passengers and walks easily through the station until they reach the exit that opens to ShiKahr.

Spock has only a small bag of belongings with him. He intends to spend most of this leave meditating, when not forced to work with Dr. T'Lei or submit to endless scans under McCoy's orders. He has also come armed with a long list of doctors who are experts in interspecies genetics, traumatic injuries, and pregnancy – especially _la'ayin_ pregnancy.

Despite commons misapprehensions, Vulcans actually have five variations of biological sex. Three of these types, superficially close enough that offworlders cannot discern a difference, are labelled 'female.' His new sex, _la'ayin,_ can be considered male – even if Spock suspects that this definition would be debatable by other species. All male children start out with similar physiologies, which makes Vulcans one of those rare races whose sex can shift in later years.

_La'ayin_ are rare, though – rare enough that most off-worlders do not realize Vulcans have more than the average binary sex-system, and rare enough that finding an appropriate and specialized obstetrician will be a difficult endeavor.

So his list of tasks is long. Spock has not yet contacted the doctors he needs to consult, but he suspects that few of them will have overlapping interests; Vulcans have a tendency to make intense study of a single discipline, often to the exclusion of anything unrelated to their specific field of study. He anticipates several weeks of constant appointments, weeks where he will be required to explain his situation again and again.

But that doesn't start until tomorrow.

Swiftly Spock regrets his decision to walk to the hotel. On the _Enterprise_ he keeps his quarters at a comfortable 104 degrees. But he never regulates the oxygen levels in his room, and Vulcan's gravity is far higher than can be replicated in personal quarters. Furthermore he is not in ideal physical condition, having become accustomed to a human-normal environment. Soon his exertions make Spock fatigued. Halfway to the hotel he pauses along a smooth stone path, setting down his bag and propping himself against a boulder by the road's edge. The buildings among ShiKahr are well-spaced, which has never before seemed like a design flaw.

The sun was unbearably bright during the start of his journey. Now the world blurs, dimming, and for a moment Spock wonders if his secondary eyelids have snapped down. They haven't, but everything keeps getting darker. He closes his eyes.

“Do you require assistance?”

The calm, measured voice makes Spock jolt. A blurry shape stands next to him, waiting patiently. “I do not,” Spock says.

He knows this to be a lie even as he says it. He focuses on breathing deeply and slowly. His sight slowly clears; he blinks against the sight of burning-white sand stretching ahead like an endless sea.

The Vulcan next to him is a tall male wearing dark, formal robes. A set of curving lines down the side of this fabric proclaims him to be a member of a prestigious house. He watches Spock carefully.

“Forgive me,” says this stranger at last. “It is not my place to interfere if you do not desire it. But I am not certain you are able to properly assess your condition at this time. Are you sure you do not require medical aid?”

Spock continues to breath heavily. He does not _want_ to lie, but neither does he want to admit the truth. “It is merely heat-exhaustion,” he says.

“You are pregnant,” the stranger observes. It would, of course, be obvious to another Vulcan. Nevertheless Spock is startled. “And it is a cool day.”

“I have been off-planet several years. I am unaccustomed to the heat.”

The male tilts his head doubtfully. “There is a tourist spot nearby, which is very cold,” he says. “I will escort you there.”

This is said in a tone that brooks no argument. Conceding, Spock allows the Vulcan to pick up his bag in an easy grip. The other hand he keeps hovering carefully near Spock's elbow, respecting his space but evidently expecting Spock to fall at any time.

Their destination is a small resource-center for tourists, clearly fitted for a humanoid clientele; the interior is only slightly warmer than the _Enterprise._ They claim two seats on a bench near the entrance, and Spock belatedly introduces himself and asks for the stranger's name.

“I am T'rha R'htai Sivan.”

“Sivan,” Spock says. “You assistance is appreciated. However, I do not intend to delay you.“

“I am not being delayed,” says Sivan easily. “I take a walk every day for approximately one standard hour. I have no other obligations at the moment, and would prefer to see you home.”

Spock cannot think of a way to argue with this that would not seem rude. “Thank you,” he concedes.

Sivan tilts his head; Spock realizes his error immediately. It is logical for members of a community to assist each other, and one does not thank logic.

Spock has been among humans too long.

But Sivan chooses not to comment. The cool resource-center cannot be comfortable for a full-blooded Vulcan, but Spock rapidly feels better. His new companion insists they remain awhile, and maintains that Spock should still seek out precautionary medical assistance. He is only placated when Spock explains that he will be seeing a doctor the next day.

“Still, you should not be traveling alone,” Sivan says. “Is it possible to contact your mate?”

“I do not have one.”

A pause. “Your clan, then.”

“We do not speak.”

Sivan says nothing. But his gaze seems suddenly piercing. Spock glances away.

It is not hard to guess the thoughts of his unexpected companion. _La'ayin_ only diverge from average males if they mate before their first Time would occur. Centuries ago, when Vulcan was at war and political alliances had a much greater importance, it wasn't unusual for this to happen deliberately. In this kinder, modern age _la'ayin_ are vanishingly rare.

Today, they tend to result from rape. Usually committed by off-worlders – although there are, of course, rare exceptions.

Sivan gives him a long, considering look. “I will see you back to your dwelling,” he decides. Spock does not protest.

So Sivan walks him back to the hotel.

Yet again, the walk is more tiring than Spock expects. But he manages, and upon arriving to the hotel he politely invites Sivan inside to rest awhile. He is somehow unsurprised when Sivan obliges.

“Have you been off-planet long?” Sivan asks, watching him set down the bag and find a few cups. Even after all his time around humans, the tradition of offering water to a guest is automatic.

“18 years,” Spock replies. Sivan tilts his head.

Vulcans, as a rule, do not make 'small-talk.' But if there is a purpose to Sivan's questions, he seems satisfied for now; he accepts his water and reclines on a chair, cradling it between his hands.

Spock almost starts to ask his own meaningless query, but stops himself. His time among humans has evidently caused Spock to start mimicking their social habits.

Sivan asks, “Can I extrapolate that you are Spock cha'Sarek?”

“I am.”

There is no surprise. “I studied your papers on cytology at the Vulcan Science Academy. Your conclusions are consistently insightful.”

“I am not a botanist; Lieutenant Tessa Seanes, however, is our leading expert in xeno-botany. You may find her research interesting.”

“But you are the same Commander Spock who serves on the _Enterprise?”_

“Yes,” Spock admits.

“Then you understate your abilities,” Sivan says. “I was particularly fascinated by your theories regarding the potential cytology of silicon-based plant structures. You were also one of the authors discussing the effects of the spore from Omicron Ceti III, if I recall? My lab was sent several studies to sample; its effects on Vulcan neurology were completely unique.”

Spock could hardly forget that near-disastrous mission. “Traveling on a starship allows us to discover a number of interesting phenomena,” he says. “Although regrettably we lack the time and materials to make a thorough study of all our findings. What was the topic of your research?”

Sivan explains that he has been investigating to see if the plant from Omicron Ceti III could help support ongoing attempts to treat Bendii syndrome, a degenerative mental disease that affects older Vulcans. It's a counter-intuitive approach, to treat one disease that destroys control with a plant that makes people slaves to their emotional desires. But Sivan thinks – and continues to believe – that mapping out the influence of the spore could help provide vital information about how the disease functions.

It's an intriguing idea. When Sivan confesses that his micro-anatomy knowledge is somewhat insufficient to the task, Spock naturally offers to assist. They make arrangements to meet the next afternoon.

* * *

Healer T'Lei is a small, old woman with skin as wrinkled as tree-bark. She also has bright green eyes, unusual in a Vulcan, and very piercing.

Vulcan mind-healers are not counselors; they are not gentle, and they do not mince words. T'Lei greets Spock, confirms the reason for his visit, and then asks permission to see his mind.

Spock consents. He never would have made the appointment if he did not see the logic in professional assistance. T'Lei requests that he sit down before they begin. She has an unusually long settee, which unnervingly is just the right size for an adult Vulcan to lay down with ease – or collapse, rather.

Then she raises her hands in the traditional position, inches from his face. She waits. Spock leans in until her weathered fingers connect with his psi-points.

And he remembers the pungent, metallic smell that permeated the Starbase. The cool hiss of a door sliding shut behind him, locking. A crushing pain against his face, his shoulder, his ribs. Hands flattening him against a desk as he tries to breathe through the bewildering pain of a concussion.

T'Lei disapproves, faintly, of the unknown Vulcan's lack of control. Even for one deep in the Fever, the man was unacceptably violent in his methods, her thoughts suggest.

If she thinks anything of Spock's own reaction – or the attack itself – he cannot sense it.

T'Lei is not interested in the specifics of the encounter. Not until she slides into the moment where the unknown Vulcan clamps his fingers against Spock's skull, battering his mind and body as one.

The memory aches like a phantom-limb. T'Lei studies it.

There is much for us to do, she says.

Something remains from that moment– less than a link, but _something_. With barely a question she reads his distaste and cuts it. That, alone, is a shocking relief. The memory seems to fade, folding away quietly.

Then she turns to the collapsed structure of his mind – fragile walls, shaking pillars that struggle to sustain his control. And, together, they start to rebuild.


	4. Chapter 4

In the afternoon Spock enters the Bahkera Research Institute. He identifies himself as a guest and is soon directed to the botany labs where Sivan awaits him.

In complete disregard for usual professional protocols, he is immediately offered a glass of water.

On Vulcan it is common to provide water during informal visits. It is a sign of safety, hospitality, and welcome. Spock would not expect such a gesture in a high-profile research laboratory, though, and finds himself unsure of what it means.

Or perhaps Sivan just remembers his weakness from the day before, and seeks to prevent a relapse.

Spock decides not to overthink the matter. Soon they are deeply embroiled in an analysis of the Omicron Ceti spore. Spock has brought several anatomical models of the Vulcan brain for the purposes of this discussion, and he's barely aware of other scientists filtering in and out of the room as they debate.

Sivan has an excellent grasp of plant biology, but less appreciation for the Vulcan brain. Within minutes he takes out a padd and starts writing notes; soon they appropriate three projectors on the wall, using two to show close models of the body's neurons while a third displays the structure of the plant Sivan has been studying. These distract Spock for awhile; the _Enterprise_ did not have time to examine the specimen with similar thoroughness.

The talk is a welcome relief, especially after the rigors of Spock's morning. They speak until 1900 hours when another scientist politely reminds Sivan that his assigned research hours concluded several hours ago, and others would like to use the lab facilities, please.

So they move outside, find a pair of benches in one of ShiKahr's meditation-gardens, and continue talking.

They only end this discussion when Sivan announces a need to investigate their ideas more thoroughly. “But I have found your input helpful,” he says. “Do you intend to remain on Vulcan long?”

“A month, perhaps.”

“And will you remain in Shikahr? Or do you intend to visit your family?”

“My family lands are not far,” Spock concedes. “But I have not spoken to them in many years. I will remain at the _Tav'Sal'Nava_.”

This is clearly not the desired answer.

“It is, of course, not my place to judge your situation,” Sivan says. “But if you require a formal separation – that is, if you need assistance approaching the Council - ”

Spock requires a moment to understand; Sivan thinks his clan has left him informally-outcast, beholden to the clan's judgment but exiled, unprotected. It is a harsh thing, and illegal if it can be proven. Victims of that treatment can find themselves in unenviable legal situations, often forced off-world where clan dictates will have no effect.

“You misunderstand,” Spock interrupts, uncomfortably aware that Sivan is not _entirely_ wrong. Spock's clan does not interfere with his life, so the idea doesn't quite apply. But he is outcast in all but name. “We simply do not communicate.”

Spock has the faint impression that Sivan doesn't believe him. But he does, at least, drop the subject. “Very well. In any case, I would welcome the opportunity to work with you again. Are you free in six days, at the same hour?”

“My schedule is constantly changing,” Spock replies, thinking of the list of healers he still needs to track down. He has been speaking with Sivan longer than he anticipated. “...However, I believe that would be acceptable.”

“Then I will escort you to your shelter,” Sivan says, and he does.

* * *

Spock wakes early the next morning. The day is still cool when he exits, and it is easy to find public transport. As he gets closer to his destination Spock finds himself again in the company of an unusual number of off-worlders; Vulcan will never be a popular tourist destination, but if this planet has any popular attractions, the caves of Kulvir would rate among the highest.

The natural stones lining the cave walls form an aesthetically pleasing appearance, and all sounds in the caves resonate; this accounts for their popularity with off-worlders. More relevantly, the cave walls possess high levels of jasif. The rare crystal can be used to create vre-katras, but this cave only possesses small shards impractical for such a purpose. Still, the environment is known to help focus meditation. It is a popular place for retreats.

Spock does not have time to engage in any long-term contemplation. But he follows one of the tour-groups for awhile, eventually peeling away – as most Vulcans are doing – to find a quiet corner where he can sit for awhile. Spock lowers himself and falls almost immediately into a light meditation.

In his sessions with T'Lei it seemed easy to sort through his mind, to purge it of taint and pain. Fixing his controls without that aid is much more difficult. He is unsurprised when other Vulcans abandon his vicinity, perhaps repelled by the discontent roiling beneath his skin.

Minutes slip past, half an hour. Control is gained slowly, but gained nonetheless.

And then -

“Excuse me,” says a high, measured voice. “I have a request.”

Spock blinks out of meditation. A young Vulcan child – perhaps seven or eight years old – stands in front of him with arms folded behind his back. The child considers him with an unusually solemn regard. He looks essentially the same as any local youth – dark eyes, black hair cut in simple bowl-cut style. His dark red robes are simple and unadorned.

“What is your request?” Spock asks.

“I came here in the company of my aunt,” the child explains. “I cannot find her. Will you assist me?”  
“Of course.” Spock rises.

The child gives his name as Sellan and obediently provides Spock with more information. His aunt is 142, and her hair is entirely gray; she was wearing green; she has a poor leg and carries a cane. Simple, identifying features. But the cave network is extensive.

“I said I was going to return to the previous cave for a moment,” Sellan says. “When I returned, she was gone. Aunt T'Dei has poor hearing. It is possible she did not notice my warning.”

Spock is well-practiced in search and rescue, and Sellan is not yet old enough to have internalized a few fundamental rules. “Can you return us to the spot where you last saw her?”

Sellan can. When they arrive he seems genuinely surprised to find a small group of Vulcans milling around, speaking in quiet voices. Spock conveys the situation discreetly, and confirms that they have all been searching for the child; T'Dei has left to search for him in another part of the cavern, but a woman named Sela volunteers to retrieve her.

The other Vulcans, finding themselves unnecessary, disperse without fanfare. Off-worlders continue to stream in and out of the small chamber without taking special notice of Spock or the boy.

Spock sits on a low outcrop of rock; Sellan joins him at once.

“I regret that it did not occur to me to remain at this site,” the child says.

“Seeking aid was logical,” Spock assures. Sellan relaxes a little.

They wait in silence. The caves resound with the chatter of a group of Andorians shuffling through a nearby chamber, though they are well out of sight.

“You mind is loud,” says Sellan.

“Minds do not possess volume,” Spock chides gently.

The boy considers this. “You are broadcasting,” he decides at last. “Your controls are very poor. Are you ill?”

“I am pregnant,” says Spock. The question puzzles him.

“I know that,” says the child with a hint of impatience. “But I did not realize pregnancy would make you broadcast emotions. That seems unpleasant.”

“Indeed. This is why pregnant individuals often go into seclusion.”

“Oh. Why are _you_ not in seclusion?”

“It does not fit my goals at this moment.”

The vague answer seems to suffice, until the child thinks of another query.

“My aunt say _la'ayin_ are honored. Could I be a _la'ayin?”_

Fortunately, Spock does not have to formulate a reply. “Oh!” the boy realizes. He leans away, regarding Spock hesitantly. “Oh - the question was hurtful?”

Spock struggles to strengthen his shields; he evidently has much work to do with T'Lei. “One does not aspire to be _la'ayin,”_ he finally manages to say. It is considered appropriate to encourage curiosity, but... “If you do not know why, I would suggest asking your aunt at a later date.”

Sellan accepts this. At that moment a number of Vulcans arrive from an adjoining tunnels. For an instant relief shines plainly on the child's face; one of the party is an old woman wearing a soft green robe.

As soon as Sellan stands the group falls quiet. T'Dei immediately strides forward, eyes scanning her nephew carefully. At last she turns and nods to Spock. “Your assistance is appreciated.”

“I am glad to have been of service.

T'Dei nods. “And I am glad that he was not found by an off-worlder.”

Her gaze flickers to his stomach.

It is odd, Spock thinks, to be always viewing himself as an outsider. This Vulcan woman sees him now as only another, logical member of her people; she sees him as someone trustworthy. Would she think the same if his heritage were branded on his skin? Is there a place for Spock on Vulcan – a place he may be forced to take, with a child of his own to consider? And what would that child's life be like? Spock well remembers the struggle and torment of his own youth.

He is not sure, in truth, when he decided to keep the child. Perhaps it is not the logical choice.

But there can be no logic in blaming a child for its heritage, either.

“Many off-worlders can be kind,” Spock offers slowly. He raises his hand in farewell, and takes his departure.

As he leaves, he hears Sellan asking T'Dei why people do not desire to become _la'ayin._


	5. Chapter 5

“I presume you are aware,” says Doctor Valon, “that the risks of miscarrying a pregnancy increase by 432% when unbonded?”

There is no judgment in the tone; Valon keeps his voice entirely flat. “I am.”

It was difficult to find a physician with any experience in _la'ayin_ pregnancy, much less expert competence. In these times it is usually a matter for historical study, reflection – not a practical concern.

Valon does not beleaguer the point, but he does clarify himself. “Without a bond you will face difficulties controlling your telepathic abilities. Your stress will rise, and this will have detrimental affects on your physiology. This is not a matter that can be fully alleviated by any system of meditation.”

“I understand,” Spock acknowledges.

Valon drops the matter. “Very well. I will tell you what to expect. I also have reading materials; some of these are restricted from off-worlders. I have marked those which you can share with your human physician.”

The number that McCoy can consult is very small.

Spock notes the files anyway. “Can you provide the odds of a medical complication occurring?”

“Unknown. Your heritage provides too many factors. Constant monitoring is advised.”

Spock inclines his head. Considers. “Do the symptoms of _la'ayin_ diverge in any appreciable way from a female pregnancy?”

“There is an increased risk of various hormonal imbalance – I will make a list. You may find yourself having difficulty with your mental shields. All other standard symptoms should be expected.”

Standard symptoms include such things as fatigue, poor emotional control, food aversions... the prospect is unpleasant. “I understand.”

The main reason for Spock's visit is to ascertain Valon's assistance in understanding the usual course of a progressing pregnancy. In this subject modern research fails, and ancient research tends to be dubious at best, and prejudicial at worst.

Average Vulcan pregnancies last, in total, approximately 14 months. Spock learns that _la'aylin_ pregnancies can vary wildly from 15 to 17 months, for reasons not well understood.

Valon has recommendations for everything from the precise amount of rest he will require to a chart depicting his growing nutrition needs as his condition progresses. There is no precedent, of course, to account for his human heritage – none but the birth of Spock himself, which he why he will soon be visiting the same doctors who were consulted during Amanda Grayson's pregnancy.

* * *

  
Spock checks the chronometer in his rooms. He is due to meet Sivan for one of the man's regular 'walks' in approximately twenty minutes. The time is more than sufficient.

He has been delaying this for awhile, but there is no logic in waiting further. Spock brings up the communication screen on his console and sends a call. Waits a minute. The screen flickers to life as the call is accepted.

A graying Vulcan woman lifts her hand in greeting. “Husband of my daughter,” she pronounces gravely. “Is there something you require?”

Spock lifts his fingers to return the gesture. “I am calling to inform you that I must break my betrothal bond with T'Pring.”

Lady T'Fel, matriarch of her clan, considers Spock with cold and assessing eyes. She drops her hand. “Your clan has sworn that the marriage will happen,” she says. “Do you reject them? Or have you learned lying from your humans?”

“I have never known a race that must learn to lie,” says Spock dryly. “And I do not reject my clan. But I must release T'Pring.”

Lady T'Fel contemplates him. “For my daughter's sake, perhaps that is best. But this should not be your choice. We shall not forget.”

“I would never expect otherwise. Spock, out.”

The screen fades to black. Spock considers it a moment.

He has ten minutes until Sivan will expect him. Spock rises, finds his shoes, and walks out the door.

* * *

A rare rain drizzles softly for the first few minutes of their sojourn. Spock has become accustomed to all sorts of rain in the past few years, from faint mists to downpours that leave him soaked and borderline ill. But Sivan tilts his head up toward the sky, instinctively trying to catch every drop on his skin. It makes Spock feel an odd pang of loss, quickly quenched. These days he mostly considers rain an inconvenience.

He has also become unused to walking on sand, but at least that memory returns swiftly.

Sivan takes them on a meandering path. It's odd, seeing the changes to ShiKahr. They walk past a open square that Spock mostly associates with an exotic fruit-stand that his mother loved, but the building has been replaced by a tailor's stall.

Vulcans do not take vacations, but perhaps it would be logical to reacquaint himself with his home-planet at least once every few years.

For his part, Sivan seems continually distracted by the plant-life around the city. He is hardly the only scientist Spock knows who becomes so wholly preoccupied with his chosen research material. At one point he stops to show Spock a rare vine crawling across the roof of a warehouse. His face is calm and blank, but his quick gestures convey a certain excitement that is not unappealing.

“I have never seen a wild sample,” Sivan confides. “Only young varieties at the Rakesh gardens.”

“I am not familiar with that location.”

“You have not seen the gardens? They are open to the public. The laboratory there has samples of the Selayan Mountain Fern, which has been revived via genetic cloning.”

Spock raises an eyebrow. Evidently he should follow the field of botany more closely, because this is a surprise. “That seems potentially dangerous; it is highly toxic.”

“But useful as a deterrent to wild animals, and easy to cultivate. There is some interest in spreading it to agricultural areas. Unfortunately, the genetic clones all come from a single plant, and it will be difficult to spread...”

Sivan lists a few more displays in the garden, then offers to accompany Spock there in two days. Spock accepts; it will make another pleasant diversion from his unending appointments.

It is an easy thing to promise, too. But then Sivan notes that it cannot be pleasant to remain at a hotel for weeks on end; he provides another offer. An extension of hospitality.

“I believe I should remain at the hotel,” Spock says without explanation. The matter is dropped.

But the walk remains gratifying overall. He returns to his rented rooms late at night and well-relaxed, despite the trying morning with Velon. He decides to catch up on the latest findings in the botanical sciences before taking a rest – perhaps this will benefit his consultations with Sivan later in the week.

All told the days seems to have been spent productively, up until he sits down at the room's computer, opens his messages, and finds a communique from Ambassador Sarek.


	6. Chapter 6

Dr. McCoy has sent a general query about his well-being, with a long, rambling aside about the 'insane horrors of space exploration.' He advises Spock to use this opportunity to get the hell away from Starfleet, and especially the _Enterprise,_ which is a complete death-trap.

Spock strongly suspects that the doctor was a bit inebriated when he dictated the message, which implies some unpleasant things about the _Enterprise's_ past two weeks. Captain Kirk has sent a brief but more coherent message, blandly declaring that all is fine and updating him on some of the Science Labs' work. The list is suspiciously short, which doesn't bode well.

But there is nothing Spock can do about the _Enterprise_ in his current situation. There is no logic in trying to confront his fellow officers over a distance; hopefully nothing disastrous has happened. It would be illogical to assume that any starship will fall into some disaster only because he is not there to assist.

Spock mulls over his replies for a long while, but must recognize that he is prevaricating. His shipmates will not mind if he takes awhile to respond. But the message from Sarek lingers in his thoughts.

His father named Spock a _shame to his house._ He accused Spock of being _stained by long associations with humans,_ and of _forgetting his proper duties to the Clan._ He accused Spock of being selfish, of choosing emotional pleasure over logic. He told Spock not to contact him.

Sarek never asked _why_ he canceled his betrothal to T'Pring.

Logically, Spock should explain. His reasoning is sound; _la'ayin_ almost never marry women. His body has already been altered; the changes have been slow but inexorable. His clinical visits have already confirmed a change to his hormones. Ongoing aches and abdominal pains serve as testament to internal shifts among his organs – the male glands shrinking, his lower body slowly preparing for an eventual birth.

The adjustments are occasionally unsettling, but less than he might have expected. More relevant, this change great effects his prospects for marriage. Among _la'ayin t_ he odds of successfully fathering a child is .72%, but bearing one would be – as evidenced – much easier. Furthermore, he highly doubts that T'Pring wants to parent an unrelated hybrid.

Logically, he should write to Sarek and detail these reasons. But by 1045 Spock has still not decided upon a response. He abandons the hotel to meet Sivan, and refuses to feel guilty.

* * *

The Rakesh gardens, despite their wide variety of flora, are not a popular site for off-worlders. This is because the garden is structured in a very scientific manner that has sacrificed aesthetic appeal in favor of excellent organization and a number of scientific stations that provide information on the plants; a small lab in the back is even open to the public, with a number of prepared slides for easy viewing.

Under other circumstances Spock might find it a diverting place. Sivan discusses some of the plants they pass, and Spock listens to him politely. But he cannot find the energy to contribute to the conversation.

“I do not mean to pry,” says Sivan after they have passed deep inside the interior, where the controlled climate makes the air thick and unusually damp. “However, you seem disinterested in the garden. Are you well?”

There are many possible responses. Spock _should_ affirm his health and try to act more engaged. Alternatively, he could simply say that his distraction is due to a personal matter. Sivan would not question him further.

Instead he replies, “The garden is quite interesting. My inattention is due to a diverting message received this morning - not any lack of interest.”

And of course, he must then explain – in vague terms – the cause of his clan's outrage.

“It is not appropriate for them to cast blame on you,” Sivan disproves. He has evidently guessed enough about Spock's situation, then.

“The fault is mine,” Spock says. “I have not informed them of the circumstances that necessitated breaking my bond with T'Pring.”

This actually seems to startle Sivan. Oddly, though, he says nothing further; they walk in silence for several minutes, admiring the blooming plants under an artificial dome of light.

“I am concerned,” says Sivan suddenly.

Spock actually stops walking. He stares.

Sivan keeps his head high despite this blunt admittance of emotion. “I understand the circumstances of _la'ayin_ pregnancy; you are clearly not well. And this is not a time when you should be isolated from your clan.”

“Perhaps. But there is no changing what is.”

They stand there, together, next to an exhibit for a rare purple moss. “No,” agrees Sivan. He sounds reluctant to admit it. “Perhaps not. But I hope you will continue to correspond with me, after you leave Vulcan; and not only for the sake of my unfortunate lapse in emotions. I have found our discussions stimulating.”

“So have I,” Spock agrees. “But you mentioned three days ago that your business in Shikahr is almost concluded. Surely you must return home soon, to your family. I expect they will demand your attention.”

They both know that a few family-members would be no impediment to simple communications. Sivan allows him to maintain the pretense. “That is not a factor in my decision,” he says. “My bondmate died two years ago, from illness.”

Spock inclines his head and murmurs the usual phrases of condolence. He carefully hides any further reaction.

The words are no surprise – only a confirmation. Vulcans do not have friends. It may, sometimes, be found logical to foster strong relationships with certain peers, colleagues, or neighbors; people with similar interests may find it helpful to correspond. But Sivan's solicitous behavior has been excessive for someone with only a professional interest in Spock's work. Logically, there is only one conclusion.

He starts walking again, and puts aside the thought for later reflection.

“T'Pring and I were not well suited to one another,” Spock offers carefully. “And perhaps it is for the best. We may both find more compatible matches now.”

Sivan straightens. Any hesitation in his posture disappears, and he continues to talk with animation through the rest of the night.

* * *

In total, Spock consults with 9 different physicians over the course of his leave, including 2 mind-healers, 1 specialist in _la'aylin_ biology, 2 obstetricians, and several geneticists.

Overall, they agree that he is in stable condition. He has been severely rebuked regarding his weight – lower than average – and provided with a list of vitamin supplements and strict orders regarding rest and activity-levels. But every indication shows that his pregnancy should proceed safely; several of the geneticists who once consulted on Spock's own birth took samples with promises to study the matter further.

On the final day of his leave Spock contemplates the message he received from Sarek. And, ultimately, he chooses not to respond.

His father chose to cast him aside without question. _Kaiidth._ He has no need of his clan; he will manage without, as he always has.


	7. Chapter 7

“Did you enjoy your leave?” Kirk asks, glancing at him with a look slightly too assessing for the question.

“It was suitably diverting,” Spock says. “I made contact with a researcher with interesting ideas about the application of the spore we discovered on Omicron Ceti III.”

Kirk leans back against his chair and sighs loudly, all tension escaping him. A few people on the bridge stifle smiles and chuckles. “Mr. Spock. You realize that shore-leave is, generally, meant for resting? Relaxing?”

“I am perfectly rested,” Spock confirms. “And ready to return to work.”

“I don't doubt it,” Kirk says. He seems more at ease, anyway. “We'll have to meet after shift and go over what you've missed.”

* * *

Spock has _apparently_ been absent during some very interesting events.

By far the most intriguing is Kirk's recitation of a transporter-failure that somehow warped Kirk, McCoy, Uhura, and Scotty into an alternate universe. Lieutenant Sulu and Ensign Chekov led a brief-mutiny after the alternate version of Kirk attempted to fire on the Halkans; fortunately only minor injuries resulted among the crew. It was eventually determined that the away-team were either imposters or insane, and they were thrown in the brig. Eventually the original team managed to reverse the circumstances of the accident and return to their own universe.

The report is entirely insufficient. Spock immediately pulls out a padd and sends a request to Engineer Scott, hoping to arrange a time to discuss these events. The implications of deliberate, multi-universal travel are staggering.

“I thought you would like that one,” says Kirk when Spock asks several clarifying questions. “But put aside the paperwork, will you? Let's talk about your trip first.”

“There is very little to discuss,” says Spock, genuinely surprised. Kirk knows him well, and wouldn't possibly expect details of his sessions with T'Lei.

“You haven't been to Vulcan in years, have you? Did you visit your family?”

Ah. “I did not inform them of my visit."

Kirk waits. Spock has not intention to elaborate, and eventually the captain realizes this, sending him an exasperated look. “Alright. But are you, well...”

Kirk trails off.

“The healer was satisfied with my condition.”

Kirk gives him a _look_ which says that he sees the evasion for what it is. But he does not press. “I'm glad to hear that. Just remember, well – like I said, I'm always here if you want to talk.”

This offer mostly serves to make Spock uncomfortable. Nonetheless he appreciates the captain's intent. He is also vividly reminded to the fact that it has been almost 3 months since his attack – and Starfleet regulations require that he notify a superior officer when 4 months pregnant.

“Actually, Sir,” he begins.

A call comes over the comm system. _“Bridge to Captain Kirk? Admiral Bennet is calling.”_

Kirk scowls at the wall, then sends Spock an apologetic glance. “I'm sorry, Spock – but we can talk later,” he adds, guilty.

“Of course,” says Spock, smoothly rising. “Captain.”

Kirk's gaze follows him out of the room, and Spock tells himself that he does not feel relieved.

* * *

Returning to the _Enterprise_ is... tiring.

In Vulcans, the telepathic effects of pregnancy are well-documented. The mind is required to shield not just against outer forces, but a new, developing brain that cannot be moved away. An overabundance of hormones and disruptive chemicals only makes this experience more hazardous.

Vulcans tend to be fairly weak telepaths, and generally need physical contact to properly meet other minds. But Spock has always been gifted in the mental arts. He is able to deliberately touch minds from a distance – with great effort – and other presences typically remain a low hum of background noise against his shields. Indecipherable, and generally easy to ignore – but very tangible.

T'Lei's assistance helped him rebuild his shattered shields, but it is clear that the pregnancy continues to have a deleterious effect. His telepathy seems to slip and falter at the slightest provocation. After the first few days on Vulcan Spock rarely noticed this phenomenon – every mind in his vicinity was neat and ordered, not to mention heavily shielded, with the rare exceptions of off-worlders or children. Here on the _Enterprise_ he has no such defense. It is certainly easy to understand why so many Vulcan woman choose to seclude themselves for the duration of a pregnancy.

For the first several days after his return Spock uses all his spare time meditating. McCoy finds him on the fourth day with the demand that they meet in Sickbay, where he is immediately sequestered in a private room and subjected to excessive scans and tests.

McCoy asks for a copy of Healer T'lei's report.

“I can provide it,” Spock says. “However, given your lack of familiarity with the mental disciplines, I am uncertain how you will find it useful.”

“Let me decide what's useful,” McCoy says. “I'm working blind when it comes to your mind-voodoo, anyway, so it can't hurt to get a professional opinion. But from your side of things – do you think it helped? Going to Vulcan?”

Spock considers this question.

The _Enterprise's_ crew is putting a significant strain on his mental shields – but that seems inevitable. More importantly, he is sleeping well; he is composed; he is not afflicted by the strange visual confusions that afflicted him in the immediate aftermath of the attack.

“Yes,” he concludes. “I believe it was beneficial.”

McCoy waits. When Spock says nothing more, he releases a dramatic sigh.

“You're going to drive me crazy one day, Spock,” he says. “Get me that damned report then. And come back next week, same time – I'm not letting you run away with an unprecedented medical condition without observation! I'll be sharing everything with M'Benga, just so you know.”

The name is faintly familiar. “Your new doctor?”

“He interned on Vulcan,” McCoy says. “I'll have him consulting on all your treatments, so hopefully we won't be completely blindsided by something like _this_ in the future.”

* * *

Kirk continues to be aggressively supportive. With a very human attitude, he seems to decide that Spock requires excessive social engagement to be considered well. Kirk is usually less prone to these sorts of human-centric assumptions, so Spock typically indulges his misconceptions when they occur.

But this is going a bit far.

“Sir,” says Spock as Kirk tugs him to yet _another_ cluster of crewmen, “Perhaps it is time to leave; it is your own policy to allow the crew to function socially without consistent oversight, for the purposes of morale.”

All of this is true. Kirk likes to make appearances at any public events he can, but they are token appearances only; some of the crew get nervous if he seems too interested in their lives. But Spock's advice is dismissed. “Ensign Chekov would be hurt if you left,” Kirk scolds.

Ensign Chekov is currently beaming at three ladies from Operations, positively preening at the attention due to him for this small birthday-party. Spock suspects that the Ensign would, in fact, prefer to be alone with those women.

“Oh, Yeoman.” Kirk turns suddenly to a young officer. She blushes at the sudden attention. “How was your mother? I heard you mention she was ill last week...”

Spock sighs and dutifully trails the captain as he circulates. Sulu and Uhura arranged this event in one of the smaller rec rooms, but people are constantly coming to and fro. The babble of voices, the close press of bodies, and the strong aroma of sugary goods soon contribute to Spock's headache. When Kirk tries to deny his fourth attempt to leave, nearly an hour later, Spock looks flatly at his captain and says, “ _You_ may remain, Sir. I am retiring for the night.”

Kirk pauses, frozen by this bluntness. Spock decides to leave before he can muster a protest.

The solitude of his own rooms is a relief, but Spock finds little benefit from his attempts to meditate – especially because the door buzzes before he can sit down for more than ten minutes. Repressing an irrational sense of irritation, Spock answers the door and is unsurprised to find Kirk waiting.

Spock eyes the captain for a moment, then wordlessly retreats into his quarters. The captain follows.

“Spock. I'm sorry if I've, ah, pressured you into anything tonight. But it seems like you've been holed up in your quarters ever since you returned from Vulcan.”

“That is inaccurate. I spend most duty-shifts with you on the bridge, Sir.”

“Well, _yes._ But otherwise, no one sees you.”

Spock takes a careful, deep breath to focus his thoughts. Kirk must notice; he looks a little alarmed. It is difficult, Spock suspects, for the man to see him less than composed. But there is no way to remedy this.

In fact, “Sir,” Spock says. “Did it occur to you that I have been secluding myself for a reason?”

Kirk frowns. “Is this – something to do with your telepathy? I thought you fixed that, on Vulcan. Unless you mean you just don't like to be around people now...”

Kirk trails off. Spock knows he must banish this line of thinking at once, before the captain decides he is traumatized.

“My mental shields continue to be unstable,” he admits. “But not due – directly – to the attack. Not in the capacity you believe.”

Kirk straightens, leans forward. “I've noticed that you're going to Sickbay more,” he says. “And I refuse to believe you've suddenly become friendly with Bones. Does this have anything to do with your trip to Vulcan?”

“The matter is... not _unrelated_ ,” Spock hedges.

And he explains.


	8. Chapter 8

“Pregnant,” says Kirk for the third time. “That – this isn't some sort of joke?”

“Vulcans do not joke, Sir. You may confirm with Dr. McCoy if you have any concerns to the contrary.”

“I didn't even know it was possible.” Kirk pauses. His mouth tightens. “And this – it's because of what happened on the Starbase, isn't it?”

“Yes, Sir.”

Several emotions vie for expression on the captain's face. Horror, though, seems forefront. “God, Spock, I'm sorry. I... assume you're keeping it?”

“Indeed. It is illogical to blame a child for its origins, Sir.”

“Yes, I suppose. But that doesn't make it less...” Kirk waves a hand helplessly. “Uh.”

“Nevertheless,” is all Spock says. “Vulcan pregnancies typically last fourteen months, and I do not anticipate that this should seriously interfere with my duties for nearly a year. However, I cannot properly speculate about the future; there is no medical precedent to draw from.”

Kirk scrubs a hand over his face. He still seems vaguely shocked. “Right,” he says. “Okay. You're not planning on taking leave any time soon, then?”

“While it is traditional for Vulcans to enter seclusion during a pregnancy, it seems illogical at this time,” Spock agrees. “I will require a brief leave in 10 to 11 months, but I would prefer to postpone that necessity for as long as possible.”

“Of course,” Kirk says. It sounds like an automatic reply. “Do I, ah, have your permission to speak with Dr. McCoy about this?”

“Yes. Though I would remind you that the doctor can sometimes be... overzealous, in his protective measures.”

“Noted, Mr. Spock. But do _try_ to listen to him – it's not just your health at risk, now.”

“I will endeavor to consider all good advice,” Spock promises vaguely. “If there is nothing else, Sir, I believe I will retire for the night.”

Kirk waves him away, leaning back in his chair still wearing that nonplussed expression. As Spock prepares to leave he glances back, just once.

It's enough for him to see Kirk mouth, _pregnant!,_ with incredulity writ plain on his face.

* * *

The _Enterprise_ has two confirmed assignments in the near-future. The first is a relatively simple mission to check on a new colony near the Klingon border, where they will deliver supplies and confirm the colony's safety. Afterward, the ship is scheduled to pick up a number of Federation diplomats for a peace-talk revolving around the planet Coridan.

Neither of these assignments are particularly pleasing for the crew. The diplomatic mission, especially, is sure to test the captain's patience; he is never happy to defer to politicians.

But their more immediate duties promise to be either utterly boring, or excessively exciting. The new colony at Beta Fereni is poised right on the edge of their border with Klingon space. This planet is also a lucrative source of Trililiqa. The colony is small and not suited for mining – the Federation is currently more interested in the medical implication of one of the native plant-species – but where the Klingons are unlikely to be interested in the planet's scientific potential, they will certainly want the planet's raw resources for their own use; Trililiqa is vital to the construction of their favored weapons. More than that, they may simply take offense to the colony for existing.

It is illogical to make presumptions about their mission, or ascribe to 'bad feelings'. Nevertheless, Spock thinks it would be wise to investigate the colony very _thoroughly_ when they arrive.

The captain seems to share his thoughts. The day before the _Enterprise's_ scheduled arrival finds all the ship's senior officers gathered for a briefing on the issue, and it's confirmed that their first priority is to monitor the colony for signs of Klingon surveillance.

“We'll take a shuttle to the planet,” Kirk decides. “Mr. Scott, while we're down there I want you to search around the planet in a grid-pattern. Scan for any anomalies, and get as close to the border as you can; I don't like those rumors about the Klingons acquiring Romulan cloaking technology.”

Scotty nods grimly; it's a sore-point throughout the fleet that the Federation hasn't yet been able to attain a cloaking device for themselves.

“Mr. Spock,” Kirk starts.

The captain freezes suddenly. It's not hard for Spock to guess the cause of his uncharacteristic hesitancy.

“Sir, I would like to speak to the colony's medical and research scientists while we are on-planet,” Spock announces, as though Kirk's stuttered utterance were a request for information. “Dr. McCoy's presence may also be helpful; their studies have fascinating implications for nerve-treatments.”

Kirk looks at him, then at McCoy, who makes no protest. “Yes, very good,” he says at last. “1100 hours then. Meeting adjourned.”

The other officers disperse at once. McCoy stays seated, leaning back in his chair and giving Kirk an almost amused look. The captain has the grace to look sheepish.

When everyone has left he prompts, “It's safe for him to come, Bones?”

Spock raises an eyebrow. “I'd tell you if it wasn't,” McCoy scoffs. “He's pregnant, Jim, not made of glass. People all over the galaxy have been having babies since the dawn of time, and under much worse conditions. I'd recommend restricting planet-side visits during the last, uh – semester? - but for now it's not a problem.”

“Good,” says Kirk. He seems genuinely relieved. “Sorry, Spock. I had to be sure.”

“I do understand, Sir. However, if you are unable to trust my capabilities, the next few months will prove frustrating.”

“Well, I'll try to restrain myself. What do you think about the colony? Or this plant that they're studying, what's it called - Chosirin?”

Here McCoy cuts in. “I'd like to get a good look at that stuff, Jim. I've read some of their preliminary reports – for all our advances in science we're still not able to repair seriously-damaged nerves, but apparently this plant might help _regrow_ nerves entirely.”

“Of course,” says Spock, “A substance that can stimulate such growth could also be tremendously dangerous.”

“All medicines can be 'tremendously dangerous,'” McCoy counters. “That's why I studied for a decade before they let me anywhere near a serious emergency.”

“And it is fascinating that you manage to be so inept regardless of that training,” Spock muses.

They all know that McCoy is one of the most decorated medical officers in the fleet. The man follows Spock out of the briefing room, loudly arguing for his qualifications, and Kirk trails after them with a wide grin.

* * *

Beta Fereni is an attractive planet, and it is no surprise that it was picked for colonization. The discovery of its material resources – and its wealth of intriguing flora – was only discovered after a small subsistence-colony had already settled. The planet is therefore split into two small clusters of buildings – one group of traditionally-minded farmers and old-fashioned craftsmen, and the other a collective of inquisitive minds, cutting-edge technology, and scientific intrigue.

“We'll be meeting with the scientists first,” Kirk says as the shuttle descends. “Starfleet is more concerned about their work; the other colonists are mostly isolationists, and haven't done much to keep in contact.”

“If they are isolationists, I presume they were not pleased with Starfleet's sudden interest here.”

“No, they weren't. I can't promise they'll be very welcoming, so we'll have to try to win them over.”

They are greeted upon landing by a small group of four. The leader is evidently the woman at the front, who wears a dark green suit and immediately strides forward to greet them. “Captain Kirk,” she says. “And Commander Spock, Dr. McCoy – welcome to Beta Fereni. I'm Anora Gale. We're very eager to share our results with you.”

She thrusts a hand to each of them in turn, reaching Spock last. He concludes it would be unwise to touch a foreign mind at this time, and merely looks at her until the woman registers the error and hastily drops her arm.

Kirk clears his throat. “We're just as pleased to be here. My science officer and Dr. McCoy here are both looking forward to examining your findings. Shall we proceed straight to the labs?”

The other, unnamed scientists trail after the woman like ducklings as she begins listing the amenities of the research station. It's nothing particularly impressive in comparison to some of the places the _Enterprise_ has visited, but her pride is apparent in every word.

“We've had some supply issues,” she confides as they approach the main complex. “But I'm sure once you've seen the work we're doing, the Federation will understand the importance of our research...”

She trails off.

There's a man in dirty coveralls standing just inside the complex, verbally haranguing a wide-eyed young scientist in a labcoat. The dichotomy between the two is clear. Seeing their entrance, the first man stomps over.

“ _There_ you are,” the man huffs. “Favoring your own outpost already, aren't you? So much for fairness and diplomacy.”

Dr. Gale purses her lips. “Captain Kirk, this is Rob Dirix. He's the elected representative for the nearby farming colony.”

“And what seems to be the problem here?” Kirk asks.

“My 'problem' is that everyone in this place is working against the Federation! We came here to get away from politics and corruption, and here it's been brought right to our doorstep by these spies.”

Spock raises an eyebrow. “You believe that the scientists here are... 'spies'?”

“I know they are. And you're here to help.”

“Your argument is illogical. If these scientists were 'spies,' they would presumably by working against the Federation; why would we, as representatives of Starfleet, be inclined to assist them?”

Dirix flounders. Evidently this hasn't occurred to him. “Well – well, they're sure as hell not just studying plants! Why is this place so closed off, so isolated?”

“Why is your colony isolated?” Spock questions.

The man glares. Captain Kirk intervenes. “Mr. Dirix, I promise you'll that we'll be visiting and considering any complaints you have over the next few days. Right now, however, we are scheduled to tour the research labs here.”

Kirk's voice is pleasant but firm. Though scowling, Dirix leaves them without much aplomb.

McCoy shakes his head at the man's back. “Don't know why people want to live like that,” he says. “Plain superstitious nonsense, rejecting technology to live like peasants.”

“Yes,” Spock says. “It is much like the illogic of rejecting transporter technology.”

“Advanced farming equipment has never sent me to an alternate universe where _you have a beard.”_

Dr. Gale looks between them with bemusement. She coughs delicately. “Ah. Perhaps we should continue the tour?”

* * *

Dr. McCoy spends hours overlooking the findings of the research station. Trusting his judgment, Spock prioritizes checking the station logs and assessing the scientists' methodologies. Their research seems sound, which is highly encouraging.

Kirk, meanwhile, vanishes to speak with the individual researchers. He is oddly quiet upon their return to the ship. As they return in the shuttle Spock asks if he has discovered anything interesting.

“I'm not sure yet,” Kirk replies. “You've brought their logs, didn't you? Take a close look at their requisitions. Dr. Gale mentioned an equipment shortage.”

Spock promises to do so.


	9. Chapter 9

They return to the planet the next morning, where Mr. Dirix waits for the landing party with ill-concealed impatience. His colonists, in contrast to the excited scientists under Dr. Gale, are markedly resentful. The _Enterprise_ crew is given a wide berth, and Dirix speaks to them alone.

“I'm guessing you're here to find some excuse to kick us off the planet,” he says bluntly. “I can't stop you from that, I guess, but I'm telling you that Gale is _up to something._ ”

Kirk folds his arms behind his back and offers a polite smile. “We're here to assess the status of your colony, Mr. Dirix, not to drag you away in chains. And if you had any more specific accusations about Dr. Gale's research station...”

He trails off, pointed.

Dirix grumbles under his breath in a way that makes it clear he cannot, in fact, become more specific. Fascinating. Spock will never stop being intrigued by the human tendency to listen to their 'gut instincts.' It's interesting to see how much import humans give to their unsubstantiated feelings.

Calling them a lost cause, Dirix grudgingly consents to show them the small town, “which ain't as far along as we'd like,” the man tells them as they walk between a store-house and a communal meeting area. “We've been posting guards against those damn researchers, you know, and that takes away some manpower.”

Kirk and McCoy exchange exasperated glances behind the man's back.

“Mr. Dirix, you still haven't explained _why_ you think Dr. Gale is – ah – a 'spy.'”

“Not just Dr. Gale,” Dirix promises. “All of them! And don't act like you don't know.”

Kirk clearly gives up. “Nevermind, then. How did your crew fare through the last winter? The climates here are fairly moderate, aren't they?”

Despite Mr. Dirix's illogical use of resources, the town seems to be progressing alright. It sits over a large vein of Trililiqa, but there are no miners; minute traces in the nearby soil discourage native plants, which leaves the colonists free to plant their own imported seeds. Few of them are negatively impacted by the environment, Dirix explains, although he laments that strawberries are curiously prone to an early death.

The ecology of this world would make for an intriguing paper. Truly a pity, Spock thinks, that the locals are not inclined toward scientific advancement.

Mr. Dirix has requests for future supply-runs including a few common tools, as well as medical supplies; at least the colonists do not spurn _those_ advances, and Mr. Dirix is concerned about a recent illness that has been sweeping through the town. Dr. McCoy offers to attend the sick, and makes arrangement to return the next day with proper supplies.

Spock pauses only once, lingering behind as they pass an open field left conspicuously between a few other buildings. There's a set of equipment that he recognizes from his various forays on Earth – a swing-set, a 'sandbox,' and a perplexing array of gymnastic equipment. The place is clearly meant to entertain human children, but he sees none nearby.

Odd, how humans value so much play in their child-rearing practices. Spock lengthens his stride and catches up, only to find Kirk peering at him strangely.

Dirix's presentation concludes abruptly in the mid-afternoon, so Kirk suggests they take the shuttle on a short flight to the research station before returning to the Enterprise.

Dr. Gale rushes out to greet them.

“Captain Kirk – is something wrong? We weren't expecting you.”

“No, no. Nothing like that. Just thought we'd take a closer look at your work, if you don't mind – Dr. McCoy has been very interested in your results.”

“Of course,” says Dr. Gale. She does not smile, but beckons McCoy forward with jerky motions. “Do you remember the way to the lab?”

McCoy sends an exasperated glance at Kirk but trails after her without complaint. As soon as they're gone Kirk spins and starts walking toward one of the adjoining buildings; Spock follows without comment.

Like many new Federation outposts, the research station is composed of a number of durable, collapsible buildings of roughly identical compositions. The equipment should also be standardized. As they walk from building to building – occasionally catching a glimpse of nervous scientists who duck away from them – Kirk starts to clench his hands behind his back.

Finally he halts in front of a small lab. “I assume you've noticed what I have, Spock?”

“Yes, Sir. The labs have a great deal of equipment that is not found in their official logs.”

“And it would still be mentioned if the scientists had attained any of it out of pocket,” Kirk agrees. “Which means they're hiding something.”

“You believe Dr. Gale is deceiving us?”

“I'm sure of it. I just can't understand why. They're researching _medicine_ here – what possible reason could they have for fabricating reports?”

A good question. “Do you think this is in any way related to Mr. Dirix's accusations?”

“It's hard to imagine how. He accused them of being 'spies' – but there's nothing to spy on here. They're on the edge of space.” Kirk shakes his head. “No. Let's get McCoy and sort this out.”

He doesn't leave immediately, though. Kirk glances at the door, but asks, “Have you ever thought of working at a place like this?”

“Sir?”

“A research-station,” Kirk says. “Some of these assignments last... years. I think it sounds a bit dull, working on the same projects for months and months... no variety... but maybe you would enjoy it.”

“I believe it devalues the work of these scientists to say that their jobs are 'without variety,'” Spock says. “But I am quite content with my work on the _Enterprise._ ”

“Hmm,” is all Kirk says.

They rejoin McCoy and Dr. Gale. Approaching the pair, Spock glances around and lowers his voice. “This section of the station is unusually deserted, Sir.”

“Yes, I know,” Kirk replies in an undertone. His odd mood seems to have passed. “Possibly they've been warned; we should act quick. Dr. Gale!” He raises his voice as they come up beside McCoy. “I was hoping you could answer a few questions for us.”

“I believe I've _been_ doing that, Captain.”

“Well, this time I was hoping for a little honesty,” Kirk says. Then he jumps, head snapping to look at McCoy.

“Honesty?” Dr. Gale asks. Her voice is stiff and sickly-sweet. “I don't know what you mean.”

Kirk jolts again; this time Spock notices McCoy trodding on his foot. “Of course,” Kirk grits out. “Excuse me a moment; we need to check in on our ship, and then we'll finish this discussion.”

Gale sniffs but doesn't protest. Spock notices her glancing at the computers before they go.

“Well, Bones?” Kirk asks once they're alone. “I hope you a damn reason for that.”

“I did. I looked over those records carefully, Jim. Looks like they haven't cleaned out their recent communication logs – they've been in contact with the Klingons since we left earlier.”

“Klingons! Are you sure?”

McCoy nods. “We _are_ on the edge of the border,” Spock points out.

“Yes, but it's hard to imagine what the Klingons would want with this station – I've never known them to be interested in medicine. And that's the sort of information we might actually give them _willingly._ ” He pulls out his communicator. “Kirk to Enterprise – run a sweep of surrounding space. Look for any signs of a patrolling vessel or Klingon presence.”

Immediate scans show nothing. Kirk puts the ship on yellow alert, then orders a scan of the surface.

And that _does_ reveal something.

“Sir,” comes Lieutenant Sulu's voice over the communicator, “We're picking up traces of Klingon explosives.”

“Around the research station?”

“No, Sir – all around the colony.”

Kirk stares at the communicator a moment, as though willing some elaboration. “What possible reason... damn.” He trades looks with Spock.

They have, evidently, come to the same conclusion.

“I would suggest we beam down a security team,” Spock says at once. Kirk nods grimly.

* * *

Gale twists the hem of her shirt with white-fisted hands when she sees their enlarged party. But her voice, when she speaks, is sharp and remarkably level.

“Captain Kirk, what is this?”

“I suspect you already know what we've found,” Kirk responds. Gale does not reply. “Are you going to tell me why you've planted explosives around your neighbors?”

“You have no proof,” Gale says. She doesn't sound surprised.

“We have enough,” Kirk says, and hands over a padd containing the data McCoy founds from the station's logs. “Fabricating your records would be enough reason to restrain you, Dr. Gale. And communicating with Klingons, hiding that from Starfleet...”

“I don't see why it matters that we talk with the Klingons,” Gale argues. It's essentially an admission. “They're not interested in our research! And we wouldn't need their help if the Federation had just supplied us properly.”

“So you admit that you've been accepting bribes from the Klingons,” Spock prompts.

“If that's what you want to call it.”

“I believe that's the legal term,” says Kirk, equally terse. “What on earth did you mean to achieve?”

“They only wanted the Trililiqa.”

Head tilted, Spock waits for further explanation; Gale doesn't seem to have one. “Clarify,” he prompts. “How does this justify your actions? Do you deny that the Klingons were, with your assistance, striving to destroy the neighboring colony on this planet for access to this Trililiqa? Do you deny that you were helping them plot to kill Federation citizens?”

“I don't know anything about that,” Gale says. She shifts from foot to foot, her discomfort belying the words. “Anyway, why does it matter if we're making a few deals? Don't you see? All they want is the ore - we're here to study _science,_ medicine. Why is it our concern what the Klingons do?”

“You were going to kill innocent civilians,” said Kirk. “That's what they wanted, isn't it? And you were just going to let it happen – pretend it was some sort of accident, maybe - “

“And Trililiqa is used to create disruptors,” Spock adds. “Surely you understand that your deception will help fuel their violence?”

“That's not our problem. We're researchers.“

McCoy bursts, “How the hell can you stand there and act all high-and-mighty? What's the point in creating treatments to heal people when you give the Klingons weapons to hurt them?”

“Says the doctor in a military organization,” Gale snorts. “We didn't do anything wrong.”

“Well, you're free to argue that in Federation courts,” Kirk says. “We're taking you, and your staff, into custody. I'm afraid your research here is finished.

Later on the ship after all the reports are submitted, McCoy shakes his head. “I just don't understand it,” he says. “How do you just make the decision to do something like that? Hell, I could even understand if the farmers were upset about their home being taken over – if _they_ worked with the Klingons – that's plain ol' rebellion. Fair enough, if they thought they had the moral right of things. But making the choice to hurt people for money, information, prestige... things you don't need... I thought we were past that.”

“We, Doctor?”

“Humanity. Thousands of years and deep down, we're just a bunch of monkeys fighting over the nicest rocks.”

“A crude description,” says Spock. “Also, I believe your closest ancestors are technically apes.”

Kirk shakes his head at them. “It's nothing unique to humanity, Bones; you can find greedy people through the whole galaxy. But I like to think there's less and less of it over time. People can learn to be better. Just look at the Vulcans – a whole planet famous for being almost devoid of crime.”

Spock finds himself unconsciously touching his own stomach. The gesture is not habitual, but it is automatic. An interesting reflex.

“You say that now,” McCoy says. “But there were two types of people on that planet, Jim, and you might notice it was all the learned and educated folk who decided to kill their neighbors.”

* * *

> RECIPIENT: T'RHA R'HTAI SIVAN
> 
> FROM: S'CHGN T'GAI SPOCK, COMMANDER, USS ENTERPRISE
> 
> Sivan:
> 
> I have attached the files we discussed regarding the Omicon Ceti spore. Lieutenant Zera has also proffered a willingness to consult; she spent several months studying the organism. Her comm number is attached below.
> 
> The _Enterprise_ is currently near the borders of Federation space. I cannot provide the details of our situation, but we are currently transporting a number of prisoners.
> 
> I do not understand the logic of using criminal methods for personal gain, nor how humans can forgive themselves for causing harm, so long as they do not have to see the results or wield a weapon themselves. But perhaps this trait is not limited to their species.
> 
> Regarding your last message: I would certainly be willing to speak with your clan's matriarch. Over the next week we may be out of communication range, but I have included a number of suitable times below...


	10. Chapter 10

“He's been going to Sickbay at least once a week,” whispers Ensign Mora. “What do you think is wrong?”

“I don't know, but the captain and Doctor McCoy have definitely been treating him funny – have you noticed, the doctor hasn't been arguing with him at all - ?”

Spock doesn't react to the crew's gossip; as is usually the case, the human members of the crew underestimate Vulcan hearing. He sometimes finds it helpful, as it is in this situation.

Over the past several week he's heard a number of officers speculating on his health. Right now the rumors don't seem serious, but it's never good for the crew to doubt the fitness of their superiors. He's also noticed an increased wariness among his science-staff, in particular, who sometimes seem eager to push him out of the labs. They keep suggesting that he take 'downtime'. If this continues the ship's efficiency will be affected.

The logical solution is to announce his condition and end the rumors. Spock is reluctant to do so for several reasons, not least of which – he can admit this only to himself – is the illogical concern that the crew will wonder _how_ he became pregnant.

It is bad enough that the captain and doctor sometimes become overly quiet, excessively sympathetic; it is always plain when they remember the circumstances of the conception. Spock has never appreciated pity.

He contemplates his choices as the captain joins him for breakfast, smiling cheerfully. The expression stands out; in recent days Kirk's smile has looked increasingly strained in the face of the _Enterprise's_ growing complement of diplomats.

In a few hours, a Vulcan envoy will join the number.

“Spock! You're planning to go down for a few hours, aren't you?” Kirk asks. “Do you plan to visit your parents?”

Spock raises an eyebrow. “I do have other acquaintances on Vulcan,” he says. Though very few. “And in any case, I have not spoken to my parents in 18 years.”  
“18 years,” Kirk exclaims. “Why not?”

“My father disapproves of Starfleet,” he replies. This answer is an understatement, and it drastically downplays the complexities of their relationship. Still, the simplification serves to make Kirk affronted on his behalf, and should quell any harmful gossiping from the rest of the obviously-eavesdropping crew around them.

“Well... alright. But I suppose it must be nice to see Vulcan again, anyway.”

Spock thinks of his previous visit to Vulcan, just months before. Specifically, he remembers the way he nearly collapsed upon hours of journeying to the surface.

“I have become accustomed to a different type of life,” he responds honestly. And he wonders – for not the first time – how much his life will change in just a few months.

Eventually, he is going to need to make several major decisions.

* * *

Whereas Spock's previous visit coincided with the occurrence of mild weather patterns throughout ShiKahr, this visit occurs in the midst of a blistering summer day. The temperature is 149 degrees and rising; Spock almost staggers upon beaming from the _Enterprise's_ cool transport room into the heavy heat of the main city station. It would have been wise to obtain a tri-ox injection before departing the ship, but McCoy probably would have refused to let him beam down at all if he realized how poorly-suited Spock has become to his own native climate.

Fortunately, though, Spock is in no danger of collapse this day. Sivan meets him outside the station, as arranged; he has also brought a conditioned hover-unit, though the vast majority of Vulcans utilize an efficient public transport system.

Despite having arranged these plans weeks in advance, Spock recognizes his own unease about their destination. Sivan's house is small but open. Like many Vulcan dwelling, the exterior is the color of burnt umber, with a low, sloping roof that curves downward to more easily shed excess sand. They shake out their clothes and shed shoes in the tiny foyer, and then Sivan leads him to a pleasant morning-room with a low table. They sit on the ground, where Sivan promptly pours him water, and Spock returns the gesture. As always, Sivan is courteous in every way, and Spock relaxes slightly.

He does not know, himself, what he expects from today. Spock cradles his cup between his palms as Sivan talks about his research, and then discusses a cousin who raises _sehlat_ in the deep desert. Spock listens, and finds there is little he can contribute for awhile– the most interesting topics he could discuss are classified. But he raises an eyebrow when Sivan mentions another cousin; this one is contemplating a Starfleet career.

“What is her intended field of study?”

“Security and Tactical,” Sivan says.

Up goes the other eyebrow. “Unusual choices,” Spock offers. Unusual for a Vulcan, he means.

“Yes. She is very skilled in several ancient martial forms. I belief she also has a minor interest in linguistics, but refuses to accept a safer track.”

“Inform her that she may contact me with any queries,” Spock offers. Starfleet, he knows, has been trying to recruit more Vulcans for decades.

This turns the conversation toward his own work. Sivan asks why he chose to join Starfleet.

It's hardly the first time this question has been posed. Usually Spock gives generic, and not untrue, answers: that Starfleet offers the potential to make new, unprecedented scientific discoveries. That he values the diversity of cultures and peoples he meets on the _Enterprise._ That he feels his skills are best used in the service of the Federation, rather than through the tedious day-to-day work of a planet-side labs.

Instead he says, “I considered joining the Vulcan Science Academy. But the reception there was... unwelcoming. I have always found Terrans view me as Vulcan, and Vulcans tended to view me as Human in my youth. But at least among Starfleet, I have always been with people who value diversity.”

Sivan nods slowly. “Do you still feel unwelcome here?”

Spock holds out his empty glass; Sivan pours him more water. He take a careful drink and considers the question.

Outside sand flurries against the walls. Sivan's home is in a well-populated part of ShiKahr. It is also quiet, serene. After two decades apart the world outside is no longer so familiar, but neither is it alien.

He could make a home here. He thinks he will, one day.

“No,” Spock says at last. “That was a long time ago.”

* * *

Spock is occupied by a minor 'emergency' as soon he beams aboard the Enterprise; the Caitian ambassador is demanding larger quarters. Then the Rigelian ambassador demands the use of an engineering team, convinced that his temperature-controls are malfunctioning. This wouldn't be a problem for Spock, except that six engineers have already scanned the quarters and found nothing. Then that malfunctioning communications console bursts into spontaneous flames, and one of the ambassadors thinks it's an assassination attempt...

Spock returns to the bridge more than an hour after he beams aboard. Kirk grins when he arrives – a sure sign that the man has kept abreast of the tedious troubles he's been dealing with. Irritatingly, McCoy is lounging near the turbolift entrance.

“Sometimes, Doctor, it seems that you forget Sickbay exists,” Spock says as he assumes the Science console.

“Seems about right,” McCoy agrees. “Because everyone _else_ forgets it exists. Rest of the ship is fit to burst, and then there's my Sickbay like a ghost-town. Ain't natural.”

“Perhaps it is due your bedside demeanor,” Spock suggests

“Or the excellent health of our crew,” Kirk interjects. “Did you have a good visit, Spock?”

“Quite adequate.”

“Don't know how Vulcan could be considered relaxing,” McCoy gripes. “How hot was it today?”

“65 degrees Celsius.”

McCoy makes a strangled sound. Kirk laughs. “That's high even for Vulcan. I don't know how Ambassador Sarek wore those robes.”

Spock's hands freeze over his station. “Ambassador Sarek?” he demands sharply. “He is retired. I was under the impression that an Ambassador Stoval was heading the Vulcan contingent.”

“Oh, he's here too,” Kirk says. “Apparently Sarek is more familiar with the issues, though, so he was pulled along. I don't know anything about a retirement.”

Spock stares at the science console a moment, unsure how to respond to this information.

Kirk evidently detects something unusual about his response. “Why?” he asks. “Do you know him?”

“Indeed.” Spock resumes his work carefully, still turned away from the center chair. “Ambassador Sarek is my father.”


	11. Chapter 11

The Vulcan delegates are the last to be brought aboard the _Enterprise_ before its trip to the Coridan system. All told the guests number 178, bringing the total ship's complement to a total of 609. The _Enterprise_ is designed to be able to carry at least 800 persons for short durations, but the ship is still noticeably crowded, and this makes the officers tense.

Spock manages to avoid the Vulcan contingent during his first day back aboard. He can tell that Kirk is bursting with curiosity – along with the rest of the crew, as news spreads – but, perhaps suspecting Spock's reticence about his condition, the man doesn't push him to speak with his parents.

Confrontation is inevitable. Spock doesn't expect it to happen in Engineering, of all places.

Over the years Lieutenant-Commander Scott has developed a tendency to adjust the _Enterprise's_ programming to boost efficiency. Being a professional, these changes are – usually – logged, justified, and properly submitted for review. The _Enterpise_ has been involved with a number of emergency situations requiring novel solutions, and Starfleet expects its engineers to use some creativity to explore and advance their own field just as every section does.

So Spock was a little surprised when Scott approached him to sheepishly ask for help.

“I'm not _really_ behind,” Scott defended. “Ach, well, I meant to put the paperwork through soon enough. But some of those damn ambassadors have been poking around, and we've been so busy lately with that transporter mess, and then altering the reflectors for the _Deneva_ incident, and that whole time-travel business...”

“I quite see your point,” Spock had replied, dryly.

So he's in Engineering, helping Scott catalog and justify the most recent adjustments to the ship, when his parents arrive with Captain Kirk.

Spock actually doesn't notice them at first. Not until he becomes aware of an uncomfortable silence; he looks up and finds Captain Kirk standing stiff by the door next to Sarek and Amanda.

Kirk clears his throat. “And this is the engine room,” he says, shooting Spock apologetic glances. “This is my Chief Engineer, Lieutenant-Commander Scott. Mr. Spock here has personally programmed most of the computers, and - “

“You are pregnant,” interrupts Sarek.

“...Er,” says Mr. Scott. The ambassador could be staring at either of them; Scotty turns and looks around, as though expecting to find a third person hidden behind the engine.

Spock simply nods.

Amanda clutches at Sarek's arm with wide eyes, apparently speechless. After a brief pause Sarek turns back to Kirk, plainly dismissing Spock. “Shall we continue, Captain?”

“Yes. Well... Scotty, perhaps you could show the ambassador and his wife the rest of Engineering?”

“Sure,” says Mr. Scott, shooting Spock a glance. He gestures for the ambassador to follow, immediately launching into a recitation of the engine's capabilities. As always, the lieutenant-commander is easily distracted as long as he can discuss his favorite topics.

The captain lingers. “Well,” says Kirk. “That wasn't – ideal. I'm sorry, Spock. I know you didn't want to tell anyone yet. Although I'm not sure Scotty understood...”

“On the contrary, Sir, I believe some crewmen are already speculating about my frequent presence in Sickbay. I am not opposed to an announcement – though this was, as you say, not an ideal medium for the knowledge to be presented.”

“I wonder how Sarek even knew; you're not showing.”

This is not quite true – Spock is going to have to visit the quarter-master soon – but he refrains from explaining. “Any Vulcan would be able to tell, Sir.”

“If you say so.” There are others in the engine room already giving them speculative glances; Sarek did not modulate his volume. “The whole crew will know by the end of the day,” Kirk predicts. Then he reconsiders. “Or, well. Maybe I'll ask Bones to send out a formal notice from Sickbay. That might give the whole thing some legitimacy; I'm not sure anyone would believe it, otherwise.”

Spock raises an eyebrow, but must concede the point.

* * *

Dr. M'Benga has a brisk, blunt professionalism that Spock has greatly missed since leaving Vulcan. Terran doctors have a tendency to soften their words, act overly-solicitious and personally concerned. To an extent this makes sense - humans are more apt to give thorough accountings of their health when they feel comfortable. This knowledge never makes it easier to answer 'how are you?' in a way that doesn't confuse or alarm earth doctors.

But M'Benga does not mince words. McCoy hovers unobtrusively in the background as the younger doctor quizzes Spock, asking probing and inelegant questions about his meditation patterns, his sleep schedule, his diet.

At the end M'Benga decides, “I'll send you a schedule listing your new dietary schedule. Follow it for three weeks and we'll re-evaluate.” He sets down his scanner and starts rifling for a hypospray.

“I do not require a diet plan.”

“Yes, you do. You're underweight. Stay still; I'm going to inject you with four rounds of vitamin supplements. And this one is for your immune system - “

Spock endures the injections without reaction, but stiffens when M'Benga decides, “We should also take a scan of the fetus at this stage.”

“I do not - “

“You don't have to look at it, but we need to check its development for abnormalities.” M'Benga is evidently accustomed to the tradition against viewing an infant before birth; properly, Spock should not view the child at all until he's touched its mind.

He concedes that M'Benga's idea has some logic, but... “It does not seem necessary at this stage.”

“Here are my justifications,” M'Benga offers, and shoves a padd at his face. While Spock reads the arguments M'Benga rapidly injects him with three more hyposprays. He cannot find any fault with the written rationale – which the young doctor must have prepared before this appointment - and so he silently suffers through another series of scans and prodding.

“You should already be noticing physiological changes in preparation for the birth – do those changes seem to fit he expected timeline?”

“Yes,” Spock confirms.

“If that changes, report it,” M'Benga orders. “Immediately. We'll check once you're at 10 months.”

Spock winces.

At the end M'Benga declares, “If you haven't gained four pounds within the month, at minimum, you'll be temporarily relieved of duty for medical reasons. This is not debatable. Do you have any questions?”

Spock does not.

Dr. McCoy watches the younger doctor leave without further ceremony. “I feel like I should be taking notes,” he mutters, and glances toward Spock with a look that's uncomfortably speculative.

...Maybe there are some merits to the Earth style of medicine, after all.

* * *

At 1700 hours Lieutenant Zera interrupts Spock's experiment to inform him that Ambassador Gav has become intoxicated in rec room 3, and in the past hour has attempted to start no less than five fights.

Spock cannot muster any surprise. It's fortunate that the _Enterprise_ hosted a number of Tellarites just a few months previously; everyone well-remembers their cultural lessons from that trip. _Those_ guests did succeed in instigating a few fights, including a notable screaming-match that had something to do with an Ensign's cat, a bet between two members of Waste Reclamation, and a destroyed project from hydroponics. Tellarites consider drunken fisticuffs good fun and an excellent way of assessing a new environment, but that never makes it easier to explain to Starfleet why their officers are laid up for brawling.

He decides to attend the matter personally. Upon arrival Spock finds rec room 3 crowded; McCoy and Sulu are at the forefront of a group of officers lingering near the end of the room, hands spread in a plaintive gesture for peace, so Spock makes a beeline that way.

There Ambassador Gav looms over a table seating five crewmen, apparently interrupted from a game of poker. Three of the officers stare hard at their cards, obviously trying to ignore him; another officer, Ensign Fell, has already dropped his cards to the table, while Mr. Nellis toys with a steak-knife in a concerning manner.

Nellis drops the knife as soon as Spock approaches. Good.

“Commander,” Nellis stammers.

Gav interrupts him. “You! Perhaps _you_ will tell us where the Federation stands on the issue.”

Spock raises an eyebrow. “You are referring, of course, to the issue of Coridan's admittance to the Federation?”

“Of course I am!”

Spock folds his arms behind his back, extremely aware of the diplomats from a dozen different worlds listening in on this conversation. “I cannot give you an answer.”

“Why not?”

“The purpose of this summit is to decide that very question. I cannot give you the Federation's stance until the conclusion of these talks, where that matter will be decided; I also cannot provide the opinion of Starfleet, because we are neutral.”

“Typical Vulcan avoidance,” Gav says. “Pah!”

Gav shoves past him and storms out. That's a bad sign; Spock would have expected more debate. Tellarites only abandon arguments so early when they don't respect their opponents or see no point in continuing a discussion. He makes a mental note to mention the encounter to the captain.

“Show's over,” McCoy announces nearby. He appears beside Spock, waving his hands at the watching crowd. As people disperse he mutters, “Haven't we dealt with _enough_ Tellarites this year? There's no use talking to them, I swear. Most aggressive folk I've ever met.”

Spock has grown accustomed to the Doctor's poor social tact, but this is not the sort of thing a Starfleet officer should say when surrounded by eavesdropping diplomats. “Though violence remains a public sport on Tellar, it is a remarkably peaceful planet,” he points out. “Appearances can be deceiving.”

“Hmmph. Finding a peaceful Tellarite is like finding a violent Vulcan.”

Spock exhales. “Perhaps we should leave, Doctor – I believe some of the diplomats are disturbed, and it might be best to make ourselves scarce.”

“Don't want to make things more awkward,” McCoy agrees. Privately, Spock wonders what possible circumstances could conspire to make this trip _more awkward._

And then, as though summoned by the thought, Spock sees him.

There is a room of off-duty diplomats and officers between Spock and Ambassador Stovel, his father's colleague. But the man stands frozen, his gaze piercing. Spock stiffens at the sight of those familiar eyes, positioned above a face so Vulcan-typically neutral that it almost seems alien to him.

The last time he saw Stovel the man was wild and uncontrolled. Violent. Unconsciously Spock takes a step back.

“Something wrong?” McCoy asks. “If you need to sit down - “

“I believe I will,” Spock interrupts. McCoy looks a little surprised. Spock turns on heel and wades through the crowded room toward the door, fleeing from the doctor, the unbearable noise, and most of all from the man who raped him.

* * *

> RECIPIENT: T'RHA R'HTAI SIVAN
> 
> FROM: S'CHGN T'GAI SPOCK, COMMANDER, USS ENTERPRISE
> 
> Sivan:
> 
> I am uncertain how to begin this letter. I have never before understood the idea, relayed by my human crewmates, of having too many ideas to speak properly. There are a great many things I would say, but I am not certain where to begin.
> 
> My father once told me that it is illogical to allow past biases to influence decisions. My mother is of the opinion that strife and trials make a person stronger. I disagree with both these maxims, for varying reasons, but today I have meditated on the ideas of injury and forgiveness.
> 
> To 'forgive' is also a human concept. Logically a person should have one of two responses to an offensive act; they should respond appropriately to a situation, acknowledging the harm down and using this information to formulate a reply, or else understand the circumstances for the offense and deem it irrelevant. There is no logic in forgiveness. A person has done wrong, or they have not. To place the impetus for absolution upon the injured party is illogical.
> 
> 'Forgiveness' is an idea that stems from emotion. Humans can always be depended to create new, perplexing ways to alleviate their guilt, or to merit their anger.
> 
> They consider forgiveness a charitable, gracious thing. But some acts are considered too heinous for any amount of human good-will to relieve. I have been contemplating this as well. Is there a point where an act must be divorced from its motivations? Our planet is often lauded for its non-existent crime rates, yet I wonder how swiftly that were changed, if our peoples' actions were judged by an outside party.
> 
> ...I do not believe this is an appropriate letter. Computer, delete the previous message.
> 
> [[MISSIVE DELETED]]


	12. Chapter 12

Spock checks his messages the next morning and finds that McCoy has, as promised, sent out a ship-wide message. The language is concise and technical, proof that Dr. McCoy _can_ communicate professionally when he chooses. It pronounces his pregnancy – deliberately blurring the matter of Vulcan gender – and then lists a number of reminders about Vulcan etiquette, emphasizing the fact that Spock's touch-telepathy will be more sensitive than usual, and stressing that he should be left alone in all off-duty hours.

Doubtlessly his consulting physicians on Vulcan would be able to add to the list, but Spock finds it acceptable. He closes his padd and continues to the bridge for Alpha Shift, ignoring a few odd looks from passing crewmen.

The bridge is oddly subdued when he arrives. Uhura greets Spock – with some excessive cheer - but no one else does. Everyone seems unusually quiet, and the tension ratchets up when Kirk comes to relieve the Delta-shift duty officer.

Kirk looks around for a minute, smiling pleasantly in response to several apprehensive glances. “Any problems today, Mr... Sulu?” he picks.

“Er,” says Sulu, after a long moment in which no one makes a move to save him. “We've all received a memo, Sir, and we were wondering...”

“Oh, yes,” Kirk says, as though he didn't completely anticipate their confusion. “For the record, no, Dr. McCoy is not pulling your legs. Mr. Spock is – how many months along, Spock?”

“Five point four three,” Spock replies immediately. “Approximately, Sir.”

“Right. There you go.”

Everyone on the bridge continues to stare in disbelief. “Well... congratulations, Sir?” Uhura offers. It sounds like a question.

“Thank you, Lieutenant.” Spock resumes his station. Slowly the attention from the other officers fades away, until at 1300 hours Spock attempts to refuse Kirk's invitation to lunch, and Kirk reminds him of McCoy's admonishments to eat more. Everyone in the vicinity becomes suddenly absorbed in their work; Spock relents.

“Sorry,” says Kirk in the officer's lounge. “But I thought you could use the chance to get away; I know I needed it. And poor Chekov is going to get a crick in his neck if he keeps refusing to look away from the navigation console!”

* * *

The xenobotany labs tend to be one of the calmest areas on the ship – barring a few notable incidents. Some of the crewmen from Waste Removal still complain about finding the occasional Denevian lichen struggling to grow in the ventilation shafts, and even Spock doesn't like to remember the 2-month period where the water systems became infected with a microscopic fern that made humans act intoxicated.

But in the past few months the botanists have been working to study old samples, or else work on their own personal avenues of research. Today Lab 16 is empty aside from Spock, who finds himself idly inspecting one of Mr. Sulu's pet projects. Sulu is now the ship's helmsman, of course, but he still retains permission to use some of the labs for his experiments. Spock is fairly certain this particular plant is a cross-breed of almost a dozen alien species. Mr. Sulu has a habit of creating new plants for their pleasing smells or unusual qualities, and probably doesn't intend to use this one for any particular purpose – he has never much cared for academia or publishing.

His latest plant is a tall, flowering hybrid not unlike an orchid, except its entire body – stem, leaves and all – shines a pale and glittering blue. The individual flower-petals are long and delicate, dangling down like silvery rain. Sometimes the petals curl and lift toward Spock of their own volition; Mr. Sulu is particularly fond of animated plants, like Terran fly-traps.

Perhaps he can ask for a cutting. Sivan would appreciate this plant, Spock thinks. Though he said nothing about any preferences, Sivan certainly spent more time lingering over the most delicate, pale-blue flowers near the rear of the Rakesh gardens. Blue is a rare color on Vulcan, and aesthetic appreciation might have motivated him.

Spock turns from this flower when the lab door opens. His parents enter, and Sarek keys the door to close behind them.

The room is, at least, still empty. Spock can imagine no reason for the ambassador to be here on official business, so he doesn't bother misreading the situation. Just folds his arms behind his back, and asks, “Is there something you wished to discuss?”

“I'm so happy for you,” says Amanda, apropos of nothing.

Sarek does not look happy at all. “I would know what you intend by this.”

“You must clarify the question.”

“Becoming pregnant.” Sarek shakes out his robes and folds his hands primly under the sleeves. “Unless it was an accident? Certainly an irresponsible relationship would explain your unfathomable message to T'Pring's clan.”

“Are you in a relationship?” Amanda asks. “Why wouldn't you tell us?”

Spock looks between them. In a disorienting moment, he realizes the reality of the situation hasn't even occurred to them.

“I journeyed to Vulcan several months ago,” says Spock at last. _“La'aylin_ have a clear reputation. Yet somehow it does not surprise me that you, alone, assume that I was not forced to conceive.”

Sarek draws himself to full height, his eyes piercing, and says nothing. Lady Amanda gasps and puts one hand to her mouth.

This emotional reaction makes Spock take a step back. He turns toward another door before they can stop him. Spock doesn't know what he expected. But if he had to guess, it would be this: a complete non-reaction from Sarek. Excessive emotion from his mother, who will radiate her pain and proceed to manipulate him for comfort, all while accomplishing nothing to help Spock or intervene with her husband's treatment of him.

In short, 18 years has left his family entirely unchanged.

* * *

Rapidly the Enterprise becomes an uncomfortable place. No one discusses his condition in Spock's hearing, but he finds himself the recipient of many long, bemused looks. Certainly he has never noticed so many people squinting at his stomach. Vulcans don't show quite as – dramatically – as Earth women, so at the moment there's not much to see.

By contrast, the petty complaints of the ship's diplomats have become much more tolerable. Spock almost doesn't mind attending the first of a series of events for the guests, and probably would be content to mix and talk with them if not for the lingering concern that he'll run into his parents again.

Not to mention Ambassador Stovel.

Spock spends the first hour of the gathering neatly avoiding the Vulcan delegation. He is finally forced to halt his circuit of the room when McCoy wanders over, looking stiff and uncomfortable in his shining blue dress-uniform.

“I feel like I've seen you everywhere tonight,” McCoy says. “You need to slow down a bit, Spock. Enjoy the moment.”

“As First Officer of the _Enterprise_ , it is my duty to see to the needs of all the guests.”

“Right, sure,” McCoy says. “Don't have to run yourself ragged though. I saw you run out of the last event; are you sure you're feeling alright?”

“We have been meeting weekly,” Spock replies, long-suffering. “I assure you that I do not intend to hide any complications.”

McCoy squints. “You know, that's not actually an answer.”

Spock is saved the duty of replying when someone steps between them. Unfortunately, the newcomer is nearly the most unwelcome person he could imagine.

“Spock. I would speak with you.”

“Ambassador,” Spock acknowledges. His father is wearing a grave black robe and stands like he is trying to loom. Spock contemplates saying something about Sarek's loud and graceless argument earlier with the Tellarite ambassador, but decides it would only serve as encouragement. “If you require anything, Yeoman Dennis has been enlisted to assist you.”

Next to them McCoy shifts from foot to foot, rapidly swallows his drink, and slinks away in a shocking show of tact.

Sarek's voice becomes colder, if possible. “You will not avoid this conversation.”

“I fail to see why you are so interested _now.”_

“Did you expect us to learn about this sooner? Without a word from you?”

“I expected you to ask for my reasons,” Spock replies, “Rather than immediately castigate me when I broke the betrothal with T'Pring. I was on Vulcan; I intended to visit. It became clear I would be unwelcome.”

A pause. Spock glances around and wonders if there is any polite way to extricate himself from this conversation. Perhaps he should just leave; the captain would understand.

Sarek draws in a deep breath. “I... regret... my haste,” he manages. He speaks quietly, as though every word pains him. Spock stares. “However, there is no logic in rejecting your family at this time.”

This seems to be all he has to say for awhile. An uncomfortable silence falls. Then Sarek clears his throat. “It may be best to reach out to the geneticists who helped conceive you; I realize that this child will have significant complications from its parentage. I assume it is mostly human?”

Spock is briefly confused. Then he understands Sarek's assumption. The implication – that only a human could have been violent enough to hurt him – is perhaps responsible for Spock's answer. “No. The child will be mostly Vulcan.”

Sarek actually twitches; Spock almost misses it. “Vulcan?”

“That is another reason I found it difficult to believe you didn't know,” says Spock. “Ambassador Stovel has been avoiding me for days.”

Sarek says nothing. His face could be carved from stone. After a minute when nothing else seems forthcoming, Spock makes his excuses and leaves.

He decides to abandon this event early, too. He's doubts he will be missed.

* * *

Spock is interrupted from his evening meditation at 2200 hours. Few people ever come to his door, so he immediately rises to answer, presuming that Doctor McCoy has been struck with one of his bouts of paranoia and dropped by to check on him.

Lady Amanda smiles tearfully. Spock cannot fully suppress his flinch.

“Spock, honey,” she says. “Can I come in?”

“I can hardly refuse.”

Amanda brushes past him. Spock allows the door to hiss closed, remaining by the entrance-way as his mother steps inside and blatantly appraises his quarters.

When her inspection is done Amanda turns. “Pregnant,” she sighs. In his quiet quarters the word rings like a hammer-blow. “I can't believe you didn't tell us. But you know, Spock – you can't stay in Starfleet. I wanted to let you know you can come home with your father and I, until things work out.”

“No,” he says at once.

“You can't avoid your humanity forever,” Amanda chides. “You might want to give me that face of Vulcan strength, but you can't do this alone.”

“I am a member of Starfleet. I have served with humans for 18 years. What part of my life causes you to believe I reject my heritage?”

“You still won't accept it when you need help,” she says. “And your relationship with your father - “

“Is quite similar to my relationship with you,” Spock interrupts. “He believes I must be Vulcan; you believe I must be human. It is clear that I must disappoint you both.”

“You're lashing out because you're hurt,” Amanda insists. “Sweetheart, I know it must be painful – what happened to you - “

Lady Amanda's eyes fill with tears. Spock observes this dispassionately. She takes a step closer, tilting her chin as though to better highlight the arcs of water that race down her composed, regal face.

His mother wields her grief like a weapon. Spock is unsure why he has never realized this before.

“I do not require help,” he says. He think of Kirk, McCoy, Sivan, and the dozen Vulcan healers he's been consulting for months. Amends: “If I did, I would not turn to you.”

“We're your family.”

“I was cast from your house when I joined Starfleet. You did not protest then; you have no reason to do so now. And it is late, Mrs. Ambassador. I must ask you to leave.”

* * *

Before he can retire for the night Spock is interrupted again. This time, by a comm-call from the bridge.

One of the Tellarite guests has been found dead. And Ambassador Sarek, he learns, has been arresting for attacking Ambassador Stovel.


	13. Chapter 13

Spock quickly learns that Captain Kirk himself stumbled over Ambassador Gav's body, which was stuffed into a turbolift. By the time he arrives Security Officers have cordoned off this section of the ship; he has to push past a number of alarmed diplomats demanding news.

“I don't know where McCoy is,” Kirk says, nodding to him. “But Chief Giotto here has identified the cause of death as a broken neck.”

Spock raises an eyebrow. “Unusually physical. Could it have been an accident?”

“No,” Giotto says. “His body was obviously moved. Which means it was probably planned. No prints, no blood on the scene except the ambassador's.”

The rest of the scene is equally unhelpful. They discuss the particulars for 3.4 minutes until Dr. McCoy finally arrives, half-jogging to reach them.

Kirk spins around. “What the hell took you so long?”

“He's already dead, isn't he?” McCoy gripes. He bends down to examine the body. “No rush. Meanwhile I have an _actual_ emergency back in Sickbay.”

Kirk frowns. “What kind of emergency?”

The doctor hesitates, briefly glancing away from his scanner to look at Spock. “Ambassador Sarek is in Sickbay,” he says at last. “His wife just brought him in – he's having heart trouble. He needs emergency surgery.”

Spock meets the doctor's gaze evenly. “Indeed?”

McCoy frowns.

“Then why aren't you in Sickbay?” Kirk demands.

“Make up your mind, why don't you! Dr. M'Benga is down there, collecting some blood from Ambassador Stovel. T-negative, of course, because he has to have the rarest blood-type possible; we're damned lucky Stovel is a match, and he's _apparently_ not too upset about being punched. If you weren't pregnant I'd ask for your blood too, Spock. But I need you down there anyway.”

Spock is tempted to refuse on principal, even as he recognizes the impulse as petty and unworthy. Kirk has a more relevant concern. “Why? If you can't take his blood -

“I don't really understand it,” McCoy admits. “You're right, it would be a risk for him to donate. But Lady Amanda said something about religious requirements - ? That you should be nearby, in case the surgery goes south.”

Spock nods. In case Sarek's _katra_ needs to be released, Amanda meant. But first he clarifies, “You agree with Chief Giotto's determination of the cause of death?”

“Sure. Damn weird breakage, though. His neck was snapped clean from behind; Gav probably never noticed he was being attacked.” The doctor packs away his scanner, plainly ready to leave.

Spock hesitates. “That sounds like a Vulcan technique,” he tells Kirk. The captain straightens.

“You're sure?”

“I cannot be 'sure,' Captain. But I can confirm that both the Vulcan ambassadors would be capable of this type of attack.”

* * *

  
Dr. McCoy insists that Spock rest in Sickbay during the surgery, insisting that he be summoned if needed. Spock naturally argues, but Nurse Chapel bullies him into lying down, and at some point becomes moot when between one breath and the next he finds himself staring at the ceiling, all the doctors and nurses gone. Evidently he fell asleep at some point.

This was probably deliberate on McCoy's part.

Conceding to the inevitable, Spock lets himself rest awhile. But gradually he becomes aware of another presence. He raises his head and meets the gaze of Ambassador Stovel, who sits staring at him on another bed across the room.

Spock remains silent, his muscles freezing up like a _vralt_ before a _lematya_. Distantly, he can hear Dr. McCoy's muffled voice rising from the surgery center. Stovel moves to his feet and crosses the room.

Spock stands in one swift motion. This only serves to make him stagger against the wall, clumsy in his uncharacteristic panic. He takes a deep breath. When he looks up again he finds Stovel frozen halfway across the infirmary. Seeing his gaze, Stovel immediately starts forward again.

Spock isn't sure what makes him demand, “Did you kill Ambassador Gav?”

Stovel stops again. Blinks. The question has caught him off-guard. “Gav is dead?”

The sound of his speech is deep and very even. Nothing remotely familiar to the hoarse, tense voice that asked for Spock's assistance and lured him to a set of private quarters. Nevertheless Spock controls himself carefully to refrain from reacting.

“He is.”

Stovel looks around the empty infirmary as though expecting someone to jump in and clarify. At last he says, “No, I did not injure Gav. Spock – I have met you before.”

“Yes,” says Spock.

Dark eyes flicker down. “Your child is mine.”

“No,” Spock disagrees. “It is mine.”

Stovel bows his head. “I misspoke,” he confesses. “I raped you. The child is the result.”

Spock says nothing. A response does not seem necessary, nor beneficial.

“I cannot – that is - “ Stovel clasps his hands behind his back. “My actions toward you were... improper. I offer any compensation you require.”

“I require nothing.”

“If you require a mate, or do not desire the child - “

“I will not bond with you.”

Stovel nods. He nods again. The ambassador looks very pale.

Spock eyes him. This shivering, uncomfortable creature is far from the aggressive shade that haunted his memories in the immediate weeks of the attack. Spock will never know the burn of _pon farr,_ but it was certainly a violent form of madness.

Still:

“You should have understood the signs,” Spock says. Gray hairs spot the ambassador's head; it was hardly his first Fever. “You could have endangered off-worlders. You should have restrained yourself.”

“Yes,” says Stovel. He makes no excuse, no apology.

This is not enough. “You should have made arrangements; you should not have been on that Starbase at all.”

“Yes,” Stovel says. Again he makes no defense.

Spock wants to say, you should have died. You should have killed yourself, rather than risk becoming violent on that Starbase. But the words die before he can speak. The insistence feels petty.

But Spock is not wrong. By every tradition in modern Vulcan culture, Stovel should have taken his own life before allowing himself to deteriorate to the point of rape.

“If there any compensation I can offer,” Stovel begins again.

Spock inclines his head. “If you wish to make amends, then you will agree to never speak with me again. You will not know the child. You will never inquire about them.”

Stovel slowly nods. “That is your right. But if you reconsider - “

“I will not.”

Stovel nods once more. He raises his hands in the _ta'al._ “Then I will leave you now. I will ask Captain Kirk for permission to depart Coridan, and I will arrange alternative transport back to Vulcan. Live long, and prosper.”

Spock raises a hand but cannot bring himself to speak. Stovel doesn't seem to expect a response; he simply turns and limps from the Sickbay.

Spock stays there awhile, in the empty room, and bitterly regrets ever beaming down that day on Starbase 17.

* * *

Captain Kirk fights with the Andorian ambassador, who turns out to be an Orion spy. Sarek recovers. And Spock resumes duty as soon as Dr. McCoy allows it.

He will be glad when the politicians can leave, and thing might return to normal.

* * *

> RECIPIENT: S'CHGN T'GAI SPOCK, COMMANDER, USS ENTERPRISE
> 
> FROM: T'RHA R'HTAI SIVAN
> 
> Spock:
> 
> I am certain that I need not offer advice or sympathy for your position; doubtless you are able to determine the best course of action available to you. However, if you do wish to discuss your dilemma in any more detail, I am will assist however I am able.
> 
> Given recent events it may interest you to be aware that your clan has begun making inquiries about eligible, single males from the great houses. I am uncertain if you keep apprised of your clan' activity, but this seemed worth mentioning.
> 
> Incidentally, I have recently met with my clan's matriarch. As you are aware, my parents are deceased; it was therefore necessary to approach her to confirm certain potential changes. Lady T'Per is very wise, and has indicated a desire to speak with you in the near future...

* * *

“Well,” says Kirk, frowning at his padd, “I guess Stovel doesn't intend to press charges?”

The captain looks up at Spock as though expecting some input. Spock simply nods.

A sigh. “It's not as though I want your father in the brig, Spock – and god knows what a diplomatic mess that would become. But he did attack Stovel. In front of witnesses! He had three broken bones... Bones already told me that Sarek's illness might have encouraged a bad-temper; do you think that's all there is to it?”

“I am sure only Ambassador Sarek himself could explain his reasoning.”

Kirk eyes him. “That's what I expected you to say. I don't suppose you'd care to help question him?”

“I do not see the purpose in 'questioning' Sarek if he has, technically, done nothing wrong.”

“Yes, yes, all right. Are you going to visit him? McCoy say he should be awake any time.”

“I will not.”

Kirk waits. When no explanation is forthcoming he just shakes his head. “I'll be glad when this mission is done,” he mutters, and without ceremony exits Spock's quarters.

Relieved, Spock takes the opportunity to meditate for two hours. Afterward he occupies himself completing the evening's reports and runs a swift check on the crew's efficiency ratings. Significantly below-average, which is not surprising. He will have to continue monitoring and ensure that things return to normal as the diplomats leave.

By this point Spock cannot be surprised when the door buzzes at 2100 hours. This time he does, however, ask the computer to identify his visitor. Upon learning that the Lady Amanda waits outside, he seriously considers refusing to answer.

But Amanda will soon return to Vulcan; there can be no harm in allowing her visit, even if Spock desires nothing less. Grudgingly he calls for her to enter.

In contrast to her earlier arrival, Amanda sweeps into the room with cold confidence and an unpleasant twist to her lips. Spock has seen this before; his mother never seems more constrained than when she is quietly furious.

“I can't believe this,” she starts without preamble. “I know, Spock, that you've turned your back on this family. But your father has just had a heart attack – which he suffered defending _you_ to Stovel - “

“Something I did not ask him to do,” Spock points out.

“That's not the point. You haven't visited – you won't speak to him. You owe him more than that.”

“I owe Sarek nothing.”

“He raised you!”

“Which, also, I did not ask him to do,” Spock points out. “And it was not I, mother, who severed our communications when I joined Starfleet.”

“You knew exactly what would happen when you left. I've always supported your decisions, Spock, but if you're just going to act out of – out of some petty desire for revenge - “

“I marvel that you still display such a poor understanding of Vulcans,” Spock says honestly.

“You're half-human, too.”

“I could never cease to forget it.”

Suddenly Amanda sags. “I don't want to fight, dear.”

Spock clasps his hands together. _Then why did you bother visiting?_ He wonders. Surely she expected no other outcome. “I will not apologize for my actions,” he clarifies. “Not for what happened to Sarek, and certainly not for my circumstances. It is hardly as though I conspired to become pregnant.”

“No, we perfectly understand. And of course we don't blame you for that,” says Amanda, as though Spock should care. “But that _is_ why I wanted to visit. You've kept yourself distant from Vulcan for years and years, but - you need a new bondmate, don't you?”

“I do not,” Spock replies, determined to feign ignorance. He was evidently wrong; his parents can certainly make nuisances of themselves on the rare occasion that they bother to intervene with his life. “I will never burn.”

“But you still _need_ one,” Amanda presses. “Everyone needs a companion, Spock. Someone to go home to. And do you really want to raise a child alone?”

“I do not see how that is your concern.”

“If there's someone in your life already, that would be different,” she hints. Spock raises an eyebrow. “But I'm sure your father could arrange something. It's the logical thing to do.”

“I think our notions of logic are not compatible,” Spock replies. Amanda presses her lips together; that's a hard insult.

She changes tack. “Just talk to your father about it, please. I'm sure he already has someone in mind.”

Slowly Spock shakes his head.

For years he has wondered if his decision to leave Vulcan was correct. Now, when he might seriously contemplate a return to his home-planet, it is more obvious than ever that his choice was the only option that would have allowed him to grow. On Vulcan he would have been strangled by the dictates of his clan, his family. And now Amanda speaks to him with the confident command of a Lady, someone used to being obeyed, and Spock finds himself totally unaffected.

“I will make my own arrangements,” he says. “If you or Sarek wish to maintain correspondence, I will reply. But I do not need your aid to find a mate.”

Amanda sighs at him. “Alright, sweetheart,” she humors him. “But I'll have your father make that list of names. Tell me if you change your mind.”

“I will not.”


	14. Chapter 14

**One Month Later**

* * *

“You know,” McCoy says. “If I didn't know better, Spock, I'd say that pregnancy makes you _mellow._ ”

Spock raises an affronted eyebrow and wheels around in his chair. Someone on the bridge coughs to cover a snicker.

“'Mellow,' Doctor?”

“Mellow,” the doctor repeats. “I think this is the first time you've taken shore-leave without being forced to do it. And for two days, even. It's a miracle.”

“My reasons are logical.”

“Oh, they always are.”

Kirk laughs at them from the center chair. “Leave him alone, Bones. You mock him when he doesn't go down, you make fun when he does – you can't have it both ways.”

“Oh yes I can,” McCoy says. “I'll stop when he makes this a regular thing, and then it won't be worth the comments. So consider that your encouragement, Spock.”

“I believe you have some misconceptions about the application of positive reinforcement,” Spock observes. “Which is unsurprising.”

“You don't get to win arguments by being passive-aggressive, you know. Anyway, I _am_ glad you're taking some time. Stress isn't healthy for you right now.”

* * *

Dr. McCoy is not _completely_ incorrect in his remarks about stress – but as always, his application leaves something to be desired.

Starbase 11 is full of loud, unfamiliar minds. Somewhere on the station an empath radiates minor tension; they prod absently at Spock's shields before pulling away. He can sense a few other weak telepaths too.

And always, always, the roar of humanity continues. Most psi-null species are inappropriately named; they cannot sense unobtrusive telepathy, but they can connect, broadcast. Recently Spock has been exhausted even by the _Enteprise's_ familiar contingent of minds pressing against his own. Here, on a station with thousands of strangers, he feels a sudden and intense urge to meditate.

But he is here for a reason.

Amid the stream of people traveling around the base Sivan stands out like a pillar of logic and rationality. He inclines his head gently when Spock arrives, raising one hand with his fingers parted; Spock returns the gesture.

They depart immediately for Sivan's on-base lodgings. This is obviously in deference to Spock's increased need for privacy, but when they arrive Spock finds himself lingering at the door.

Most Starbases are built after a standard model, and look similar. He finds himself rudely reminded of following Stovel into his quarters on Starbase 17.

Sivan pauses at the threshold, turning to consider him. Spock enters.

Sivan seems to misinterpret his reaction. He finds a pitcher of water and gestures for Spock to take a seat. “If the station is too much,” he offers, “I understand if you need to return to the ship.”

They exchange glasses of water. “That is not necessary,” Spock says. He does not sit down.

“You are strained by their minds,” says Sivan. When he says _their minds_ he means _all these minds, all these non-Vulcans._ “Allow me to assist.”

Sivan holds out one hand at eye-level. His middle finger and thumb extend in an unmistakable gesture.

Spock hesitates. His first impulse is to step forward, at once, and seek the cool relief of an ordered psyche. But such melds are not shared casually. The gesture has a wealth of implications. He meets Sivan's gaze – measured, patient – and considers carefully.

Then he steps forth anyway.

The meld is like a spray of ice over a burn. It numbs frayed edges, softens raw and bleeding cracks in his shields. A strong mental presence overlaps his own, at once vanishing the background-hum of chaotic emotions from all over the station. Spock has almost ceased to notice the strain, by now, but this sudden ease leaves him acutely aware of how much he has been enduring.

Their people are _meant_ to have bonds. And if he only had a mate -

You could, says a voice inside. Sivan's telepathic presence interweaves easily with his own. They are imminently compatible - a good match. Somehow this is only a confirmation of what they have already known.

We could have this, the voice coaxes. I offer it to you – forever and always, touching and touched.

Traditional words.

A strong part of Spock wants to accept. But there are complications. Of course the child -

Which we will raise, says the other.

His career -

Which I will support, says the same, implacable voice.

But then, why this offer?

Sivan is puzzled by Spock's confusion. Because it is logical, he responds. Because they fit together. Because they are good companions. Because their minds are one. What else is there to discuss?

What else, indeed.

* * *

Spock awakens with an odd sensation that can only be described as the _opposite_ of a headache.

After weeks of discomfort the difference is impossible to miss. He feels simultaneously enervated and relaxed – even to the point of contemplating excess rest, though his internal clock tells him it is 0900 hours, which is far beyond his usual time of rising.

A warm presence rests at his side; a heavy weight lays limp on his chest. As Spock opens his eyes Sivan removes this arm, raising his hand to brush the corners of Spock's psi-points. He turns toward the touch instinctively. Dazzling sunlight seeps through his skin; the contact is addicting.

All too soon, though, Sivan pulls away.

They are in Sivan's temporary quarters. They are both clothed. But the link between their minds is solid, unwavering. Sex is not required for this.

They share a bond – strong, permanent. Spock can feel it even as Sivan rises and begins to unashamedly switch his clothing.

“I had planned to peruse the Starbase today,” Sivan tells Spock, “But I have no important plans. Do you wish to remain here?”

It is tempting to say yes. Doctor McCoy would probably tell him that resting, in his current condition, is only logical. But Spock expects his warm languor to wear away soon regardless of what actions he takes.

“I have an alternative suggestion,” he offers, and Sivan tilts his head.

* * *

The _Enterprise_ is more depleted than usual with nearly a third of the crew taking advantage of Starbase 11's recreational facilities. Other shifts will cycle around so that everyone gets a chance for shore leave, but the _Enterprise_ is still scheduled for several days of rest.

“Excessive,” Sivan says. “But fortunate.”

It is not common for crewmembers to bring guests aboard, but it _is_ permitted, with the permission of a senior officer. Spock, fortunately, can bypass that requirement.

Sivan has previously expressed an interest in examining the _Enterprise's_ scientific instruments. Spock contemplates inviting him to the ship's gardens – certainly it is what his romantic human crewmates would advise – but ultimately thinks they would both prefer to work.

Their destination is lab 8. They find it occupied, but this is no trouble.

“Mr. Sulu,” Spock greets. “I would introduce you to Sivan. We intend to examine the spore we discovered on Omicron Ceti III. Would you care to join us?”

Sulu immediately brightens. “Absolutely,” he says, pushing away his microscope. “I've been cataloging for hours – not much to do at a space-station.”

Sulu holds out a hand, immediately retracts it, and sheepishly spreads his fingers “Hikaru Sulu,” he greets Sivan.

“I am Sivan,” says Sivan gravely. He returns the gesture. “Live long, and prosper.”

Formalities done, they begin walking to the labs. “So are you a botanist?”

“I am,” Sivan confirms. “I have been visiting Starbase 11 to attend the xenobotany conference over the past four days.”

“There was a conference?” asks Sulu, surprised. “Wish I'd known.”

“It was... not as engaging as desired.”

“Yeah? Who presented?”

Sivan relates the most interesting – and least interesting – lectures he's attended as they enter the labs. Sulu cringes when he mentions a particular specialist from Betazed - “yeah, I attended one of her presentations at the academy, she's brilliant but she can't lecture at _all_ ” - and the conversation easily and professionally transfers onto Sivan's research.

It's a stimulating way to spend a morning. And then after an hour slips by Sulu asks, “So how do you know Commander Spock, anyway?”

Sivan adjusts his microscope. “He is my husband.”

Sulu freezes in the act of setting two samples into a stasis-unit. “Oh?” he asks, high-pitched. Spock raises an eyebrow; the lieutenant reddens.

“Yes,” says Sivan, nonplussed. “Can you hand me that container?”

Sulu mechanically hands it over.

The lieutenant excuses himself after another fifteen minutes, claiming bridge-duties; Spock recalls that Sulu is scheduled as commanding officer for the second half of Beta shift, after which he'll enjoy his own leave on the starbase.

Strangely, this does not leave Spock and Sivan alone for long. A number of crewmen suddenly seem to have paperwork for Spock to sign, or minor experiments they wish to check on; a young engineer comes down and fiddles uselessly with some of the equipment for awhile, claiming to be feeling nostalgic for her old chemistry classes.

Strange.

At 1200 hours, they adjourn to one of the rec rooms for a meal.

* * *

  
“Good god, he's duplicating,” says McCoy when Spock and Sivan enter the rec-room. It garners some scattered laughs.

“Well, we already knew that,” says Uhura with a casual wave toward Spock's stomach. She winks at Sivan in an entirely irreverent fashion. “You're Sivan, aren't you? _Dif-tor heh smusma_ _.”_

Her accent is excellent. Sivan raises an eyebrow and replies, “ _Sochya eh dif_.”

Spock, meanwhile, looks accusingly at McCoy. The doctor just grins at him. Uhura's comment makes it clear that the crew has been gossiping – an impressive feat, he thinks wryly, given that Sivan has only been aboard several hours.

Humans never cease to amaze.

Captain Kirk arrives fifteen minutes later, after Spock is halfway through a plate of salad. He steps straight up to the table with a confident stride, but his smile is fixed, wooden. Spock eyes him suspiciously.

“You're Sivan, I take it?” Kirk asks. “I've heard the crew saying you're... a good friend of Mr. Spock.”

“We are bonded,” says Sivan bluntly.

“Well,” says Kirk. “Congratulations.”

Perhaps sensing the atmosphere, a few crewmen make excuses and leave to a table at the opposite end of the room; quick glances and smiles make the subject of their conversation clear. Spock does not fool himself into believing they have privacy, and he does not dare question Kirk about his reaction.

Fortunately, McCoy provides an unlikely save. “You know,” he says, “I guess it makes sense for two men to marry, if you _can_ have children anyway. But I wouldn't have guessed that Vulcans had same-sex marriage, otherwise.”

Sivan tilts his head. “If you are referring to our bond, Dr. McCoy, I would point out that we are not the same sex.”

“What?”

“You are speaking from a common misconception,” Sivan offers helpfully. “Our species possesses five sexes, not two.”

“Five sexes...?” McCoy turns to Spock, baffled. “Since _when?”_

“Determining the exact moment of physiological divergence would be quite impossible, Doctor.”

Kirk looks like he's trying hard to hide his disbelief. McCoy rubs a hand over his face. “I've done a _lot_ of research on Vulcan biology, Spock, and I've never seen a single text that so much as hinted at a third gender – let alone a fourth or fifth. What the hell is wrong with you people? There's a difference between 'private' and 'paranoid!'”

“The exact differences are typically not relevant to outsiders,” Spock says. “The two most common female subtypes mostly diverge in their telepathic gifts, and through minor hormone variations; the other female subtype, as well as _la'ayin,_ are rare enough that any inclusion in your medical texts would be an unnecessary distraction.”

“Clearly not _that_ rare,” McCoy says, gesturing at Spock.

“I would estimate there are less than two-hundred on all of Vulcan,” Spock points out.

“That doesn't make sense! If it's a naturally occurring difference - “

“All males have the potential to be _la'ayin_ until the onset of second-puberty,” which is the generally-accepted euphemism for the first _pon farr._ “But the required circumstances are rare, in modern times. My own lifestyle is unusual by any Vulcan standards.”

McCoy grunts, but fortunately doesn't probe that too far. “Well, I still say it's damn bizarre.”

Kirk shifts and leans back in his chair, frowning as he glances between Spock and Sivan. He does not join in the conversation, even when everyone starts clamoring to know how they met, and McCoy promptly harangues Spock for his near-collapse on Vulcan. Uhura declares Sivan his 'white knight' – a term that requires some explaining, and which only serves to puzzle Sivan.

Spock is gratified that Sivan has some tact; notably, he keeps the date of their first meeting vague. Spock is not oblivious to the fact that the general _Enterprise_ crew will assume Sivan is the other parent to his unborn offspring.

There is no need for anyone to pry beyond that.

* * *

Sivan carefully takes a long, curved dagger from the wall. “An impressive collection,” he acknowledges. “Pre-Reformation, by... 200 years?”

“241,” Spock acknowledges. He watches Sivan replace the weapon. “Was there a reason you wished to speak privately?”

Sivan steps closer. “Not as such,” he admits. He reaches up to cradle Spock's face, the tip of his middle finger brushing against his psi-points. The touch is like frost seeping through his skin, cool and pleasant. “Your crewmates are... exuberant. But interesting.”

“Yes,” says Spock, not sure what he's saying. Sivan strokes the side of his face, taking another step closer Automatically – following an instinct he's never possessed before – Spock brings up a hand and extends two fingers. Sivan clutches him in an almost painful grip, and under the ice-cold touch of his mind Spock can feel a prickling hunger.

Sivan bends down, lips pressing again his neck, and Spock shoves him away.

The next moments are a blur of confused motion. During the next moment of awareness he finds Sivan staring at him from next to the wall, hands raised as though he's forgotten what to do with them. Spock himself is on the ground, somehow braced against the side of his bed and shaking.

“My apologies,” Spock manages.

His heart hammers in his side. An illogical fear-reaction. The origin is not difficult to determine, but the past should have no bearing on the present. He takes a breath. Centers himself.

Sivan lowers to the ground beside him, reaching out to cradle his face again. Spock represses a wince, but goes so stiff and still it might not matter. But to his surprise this touch has no greed, no lust. Instead a pulse of something soft and soothing crosses between their skin; Spock relaxes. He reaches out again with the traditional gesture, two fingers extended in invitation.

Sivan regards him for a moment. He shakes his head and says, “I am not going to harm you.”

“I am aware,” Spock agrees. He keeps his hand extended.

“I am not going to hurt you,” Sivan repeats. “And I will not engage in sexual relations that you do not desire.”

“I am not unwilling.”

Sivan gives him a look of such reproof that Spock drops his arm. “I will not harm you,” he says for a third time. It resounds like a command. “And you do not need to apologize for being afraid.”

Spock almost says he is not afraid. It is habitual to remind the humans that he does not experience emotions as they do, and so sometimes he exaggerates – or outright lies – to make his point. But with Sivan, such a statement would be clearly fallacious.

“I should be able to control myself,” is what he says at last. Sivan, it seems, has a way of getting the truth from him.

“Your control is perfectly adequate,” Sivan says. It carries the attendant implication that his emotional outbursts was merited.

Spock cannot quite agree. Sivan has never asked for details of his rape; in fact they have never discussed it at all. Perhaps Sivan pictures the event as being far more traumatic than it was, Spock thinks. He has, after all, adjusted quite well. The encounter lasted several hours; he sustained only minor injuries. He has been tortured in far less tolerable ways without any subsequent coddling. But maybe Sivan thinks he needs this, the illusion of safety, the careful treatment.

This, Spock supposes, is not unfair. He met Sivan in a period of vulnerability. Every interaction since has been shaded by the pain and uncertainty of his situation, so it should not be strange that Sivan has grown protective. Nor would it be surprising if he viewed Spock as less competent than he is.

Sivan brushes a finger against the side of his face. Their link deepens for just a moment; Sivan answers his thoughts. “You are a decorated officer,” he says. “I do not mean to underestimate your capabilities. But there is no shame in requiring assistance, nor in seeking comfort from a bondmate. There is no emergency here; you are not required to assume command. And I am glad to offer anything you would have of me.”

Spock feels, strangely, as though he _should_ argue. This is an unusual sensation only because he can't quite determine what part of Sivan's statement is objectionable. Sivan continues tracing a line along his face, lingering over the meld-points on his cheek and jaw. He almost radiates calm and reassurance.

Before he can think of a way to respond, Sivan tells him, “I was not able to protect my wife.”

The words come out softly, like a secret. Sivan has barely mentioned his previous spouse, T'Lir. Spock pauses to listen.

“We knew, of course, that she was dying,” Sivan says. “But I did not realize how much she suffered until the end, when she could no longer control her fears. You should not have to wait for comfort until the moment your hurt becomes unbearable. There is no logic in suffering. And I do not see how it does any harm to take our comfort in each other. I ask you to indulge me in this.”

Spock considers this argument carefully. He is not accustomed to feeling so unprepared, so inept. “Your logic is sound.”

To his surprise Sivan drops his arm around his waist, holding him in a very human embrace. It is not unpleasant.

Spock relaxes against Sivan's side and feels a hand settle over his stomach. And if this closeness comforts Sivan, he supposes there is no harm in allowing it.

* * *

Spock has no doubt that he _could_ apply for a longer leave than the 72 hours granted to each officer for their visit to Starbase 11. Even after his month on Vulcan Spock has excessive of accumulated leave; McCoy would also support additional rest for medical reasons. But Spock has no real need of such a break, so it would be unethical to give himself special considerations.

Still, it is with an odd reluctance that he walks Sivan to the transporter-room early the next morning.

At the transporter Mr. Scott keeps his head bent over the console, poking uselessly and in such a way that Spock knows he is accomplishing nothing at all. The effort is appreciated, and Spock dares to extend two fingers in farewell.

This time Sivan meets the gesture. There are no words necessary when he leaves; they are, now and always, touching and touched.

Spock turns as the transporter beam fades away in a wash of light. When he moves to exit he finds Kirk standing stiff next to the door, arms crossed.

“Forgive me for intruding,” Kirk offers. “I suppose I'm still a bit curious.”

Spock assesses him. “If you have a moment, Captain, I would like to speak with you.” Kirk agrees without asking any questions.

* * *

It is not until Kirk sits down across from Spock – at the same small table where they have often played chess – that Spock realizes how little they have socialized since his return from Vulcan several months previous. At one point they made a habit of playing chess one a week, and often came together even outside those arranged meetings. Lately it seems he has only seen Jim for ship's business.

Kirk, perhaps, is also cognizant of their distance; he glances around with a faint frown before speaking. “Is there a problem, Spock?”

“Perhaps,” he replies. Spock is unsure how to vocalize his concerns. He decides to be blunt. “I gained the impression that you were unnerved by my discussion with Dr. McCoy regarding the different sexes of Vulcans.”

“I wouldn't say I was _unnerved.”_

“Nevertheless, Sir, I would have your thoughts.”

The captain looks at him oddly for a moment; perhaps Spock's wording was poor. It leaves him suddenly wistful for the mind-melds they have shared in the past, that spark of perfect understanding. Here communication comes much more slowly.

“Everyone says that Vulcans treat women – oddly,” says Kirk. His slow speech makes it clear that he's being careful with his phrasing. “People also say Vulcans are logical, that your people treat both genders – all genders – equally. But I've heard it said that women have to obey the men. Given what you've told us today, I expect the truth is a bit more complicated.”

This is not the query Spock might have expected. But then, Kirk's mind does have a tendency to follow circuitous routes. He steeples his fingers and considers his response.

“It is reductive to say that Vulcan women are forced into obeisance. What you must first understand is that physical sex is, largely, irrelevant in relation to the way we choose and relate with partners. 91.5 percent of marriages occur between the male and female sexes, for the purpose of keeping procreation as an option, but mental compatibility is prioritized above all else.”

A bit of Kirk's hesitance fades away, replaced by an adventurer's curiosity. “What does that have to do with the stereotypes about Vulcans?”

“In nearly any marriage-bond, it is recognized that one mind will have greater influence over the other. That individual - “ Spock struggles to describe it. “They have a certain greater legal authority – they would act as the 'head of household,' I believe is the closest human equivalent. This leaves them with certain attendant social obligations. But this status is not predicted on the basis of sex, with the exception that one of the female subtypes – colloquially termed 'matriarchs' – tend to enter polygamous group-marriages, and almost exclusively dominate their bonds.”

The expression on Jim's face is interesting – a brief grimace, quickly hidden. His next question is almost hasty. “You keep referring to male and female sexes, but if there are five... it's the telepathy that makes a difference, then?”

“Primarily. The female sexes mostly differ through their melding-centers and telepathic qualities. _La'aylin_ are an exception, being notable for the ability to bear children, and we almost always take the more passive part in our bonds.”

“Almost always,” Kirk echoes. His grimace this time is undeniable.

“Yes,” Spock says. “Does that disturb you?”

“What?”

“You are bothered by the idea of these bonds.”

“Well, I suppose I am. Earth has a long history of unequal marriages,” Kirk evades. “I'd like to hear more about what it means to be the... 'head of household,' you said?”

Spock ignores the hint. “You are bothered by the implication that I assume a submissive role in my relationship with Sivan.”

“I'm not - “

“Your reaction is likely a reflection of Terran gender norms, due to both an inherent distaste of any perceived femininity and a long history of prejudice against same-sex couples on your planet.”

“I'm – I'm not a _homophobe,_ Spock! Or a misogynist!”

Spock raises an eyebrow. “No,” he agrees. “But you _are_ troubled by my marriage, Sir. And, I suspect, my pregnancy. Can you explain why?”

To his credit, Kirk doesn't answer immediately. He presses a fist to his mouth, teeth gritted, and actually thinks about the question. “I... don't like to admit it,” he says at last. “But maybe you have a point. It just – none of this fits with the way I picture you, I suppose.”

Spock raises an eyebrow.

Without prompting, Kirk sighs. “Yes, I know. I don't want to make excuses. I'm trying not to judge, it's just... it's strange to me.”

“How so?”

Kirk frowns. “You're always so – calm, collected. I can rely on you. I've seen you tortured with a mind-sifter, those parasites on Deneva... and even after you were attacked, on the Starbase, no one could have guessed it.”

“I was greatly disturbed by every incident you have mentioned,” Spock says. This admission clearly surprises Kirk. “Do I understand that you consider my relationship a sign of weakness?”

“No – well.” Kirk huffs and gnaws at his lip. “You _are_ pregnant. That makes you more – vulnerable.”

“But that does not justify your discomfort with the idea.”

Spock waits as his captain wrestles with these proposals. For Spock, meditation helps to recognize and dismiss irrational emotions. Humans sometimes need to approach their revelations through a circuitous route, and it only seems proper to be patient.

“Alright, maybe I did think of it that way,” Kirk finally confesses. “Damn it, Spock, I don't like to consider myself a bigot.”

“I would not name you one, Sir. I merely suggest that you hold natural cultural biases, and a preference for the types of relationships most familiar to your background. You are certainly entitled to certain preferences within your own relationships, but I would not want that perception to influence our professional relationship.”

“Our professional relationship,” echoes Kirk, ruefully. “I hope it would never come to that... I'm sorry, Spock. I've been unfair to you.”

“On the contrary, Sir, you have been quite subtle in your distaste.”

Kirk snorts. “That doesn't make me feel better. No, I've been a poor friend. All I can say is that I'll work on it, I suppose.” Kirk leans back in his chair. Taps the table. “Is there anything else you can tell me about those bonds?”

* * *

Spock find himself unusually popular in the coming days; the bridge gains a jocular atmosphere as Uhura teases Spock about his 'mysterious' bondmate, and even Chekov ventures to ask several questions about Vulcan marriage-customs (which Spock resolutely avoids answering, especially as most of his questions seem suspiciously focused on Vulcan women).

He can feel his nascent bond with Sivan fading and stretching when the Enterprise enters warp. For the first time, he finds himself rethinking his decision to continue serving on the _Enterprise._ He surprises himself by thinking wistfully of Sivan's small and quiet house on Vulcan. Contemplates what it would be like to see his bondmate every day.

But the bond will always be here – a warm, reassuring presence humming constantly behind his thoughts. He is not alone.

For now, at least, it is enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, I know, an mpreg fic with no baby. I can't say when the rest of the series will be completed, but I'm guessing at 2 medium-sized fics and one short one as sequels. Eventually. I hoped you enjoyed this story!


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